


An Understanding Between Master and Valet

by Jade56



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Class Differences, First Time, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Period Typical Attitudes, Pining, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:03:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8469790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade56/pseuds/Jade56
Summary: A pining Jeeves tricks a lonely Bertie into believing that it is common practice for valets to see to the intimate needs of their employers. Bertie, trusting and gullible as always, is easily fooled. But how long can Jeeves continue under the weight of his own conscience?





	1. Chapter 1

Being aware of Mr. Wooster’s habits, I notice promptly when he deviates from his custom. This occurred one week when he began to attend fashionable gatherings with unprecedented tenacity. He is a sociable man and attends the occasional function, but never before had he devoted himself wholeheartedly to such a lifestyle.

It started on a morning when he mentioned interest in attending a ‘corking get-together’ in the metropolis, and in the evening, he exited the flat with suit, tie, and enthusiasm. A similar event occurred the next day, and the day after that.

This newfound festive spirit reigned for several days. He slept all through the sunlit hours, and made himself busy during the evenings. I saw very little of him during that time—just enough to help him dress before he left the flat.

The only other time I saw him was at dawn, when I was just waking to the world, and he was returning from his merriment. The expression on his tired face had yet to be a merry one, however, at this late and early hour. I could not be certain, but I thought that the redness in his eyes and the crestfallen way in which he cast them downward had nothing to do with whatever drinks he might have ingested.

Regardless, I prepared a restorative for him. He received the drink with hands that trembled visibly, yet recoiled from me when I offered assistance, and told me that he required no further aid for the evening (a loose application of the word, but I took no issue with it considering Mr. Wooster’s despondent state). The door to his bedroom was then shut, leaving me on the unwelcome side. He would not allow me to help him undress for bed.

Something was amiss.

Eventually, I posed the question that I could delay no longer, however apprehensive I was of the reply.

“Have I failed to satisfy your needs in some way, sir?”

It seemed that what was once enthusiasm had taken on the more serious and blurred appearance of haste. My question had narrowly caught him before he could make his escape from the flat.

He did not look at me directly when he replied.

“Oh, not at all, Jeeves.”

“Sir, if I may provide my reason for asking this question, you seem to have spent as little time in the flat as possible, as of late.”

Mr. Wooster reached for his hat, and turned the brown trilby over, as if carefully inspecting it.

“Just taking a turn or two round the lively metrop., you know.” Though his words were promising, his sombre tone was not. Finally, he turned his gaze toward me, and a pale imitation of his usual cheerful smile appeared on his face. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You never could, old thing.”

Though awestruck by this generous assurance, I was careful not to reveal the warmth I felt. I merely intoned, “Most kind of you, sir.”

His smile became friendlier then, if not more cheerful. “Surely there’s no harm in the young Wooster spreading his wings, what? As a civil butterfly, I mean. Erm, is that the term I want?”

“Social butterfly, sir.”

His smile was growing brighter by the second. “That’s the chap. Allow me my social-butterflying for the nonce, Jeeves.”

The hat alighted atop his curls, which looked like they would be rather soft and pleasant to touch—I only mean that his hair appeared soft and well managed. It is a valet’s responsibility to see that his master is presentable.

“I’ll try not to be in too rotten a mood when I return,” he continued. “All the festivities can tire out a cove and knock the good manners out of him, I’m afraid. It’s a wonder you’ve put up with me these past few mornings.”

“Not at all, sir.”

My concerns were not entirely assuaged, but it was true that a young gentleman had a right, and to some extent an obligation, to make social appearances. Perhaps Mr. Wooster only sought enjoyable galas unmarked by the schemes of friends and relatives, which I admit was a rare kind of event in his experience.

I resolved to give my young employer the freedom he required. Nevertheless, I hoped this behaviour would be short-lived, and he could once again find contentment in the life he had at home with his valet.

I make no claim that it was a selfless hope, or a reasonable one. Truly, it is surprising that he spent as much time in this flat or elsewhere with only his manservant for company until this week. It was my hope, nonetheless.

Just two hours later, Mr. Wooster returned. He seemed to have condensed the festivities considerably, as he already bore the reddened gaze and downcast expression of mornings past. He tossed his hat in the general direction of the hat stand, though he was unbothered when the object missed its target.

“I am finished,” he announced, as I swiftly moved the trilby to its correct place. “This butterfly should have stayed in the old cocoon.”

I approached him dutifully, taking the coat from his dispirited form. “You did not enjoy yourself, sir?”

“I haven’t enjoyed myself all bally week,” he confessed.

A new concern rose within me. Why would he subject himself to unpleasantness? “Yet you have kept a regular schedule of attending these festivities, sir.”

“Well, no longer. I made a good attempt, and then a few more. Attempts come in limited supply, you know, and I’m well out. I’ll be in my room, Jeeves. No need to help me to bed.”

“Pardon me, sir,” I said quickly before he could make his way to his bedroom, “but what exactly did you attempt?”

“I mean to say, the social wheeze. Butterflies and whatnot.”

“You have shown yourself to be a very social man on previous occasions, sir. Were these recent festivities different in some way?”

He hesitated, and his fingers danced nervously on the handle of his whangee. “Not really, Jeeves. No, not really.”

“Sir—”

“That’s quite enough, please,” he said, and I respectfully stayed silent. “Good night, Jeeves.”

“Good night, sir.”

Mr. Wooster sighed tiredly, and then, asking for nothing, sealed himself in his room.

Something was terribly amiss, indeed.

~~

The Wooster legs are legendary stuff. They descended from limbs that marched in the Crusades, and for centuries had held up the hereditary chivalrous spirit. But the dashed things finally gave out under me once I shut the door on my miraculous valet.

That miraculous valet was the reason the legs gave out, you see. In fact, that m. v. seemed to be the reason for many things these legs did: veering off to stuffy soirees to find someone else to mesmerise the young master, kicking the nearest kickable settee upon failing to find any such someone, and plodding back to the flat because I keep thinking, _It has to be you, Jeeves. I do mean it, old thing, no one but you._

But it never could be, could it? Miracles don’t feel the tender pash for earthly Woosters, and besides, an upstanding cove knows better than to catch himself daffy for an employee.

Don’t think that old Wooster is exercising… exacerbating…? Exaggerating! Don’t think that I’m exaggerating when I call Jeeves a miracle. He would’ve helped me come up with ‘exaggerating’ in a much more timely manner, and would probably have a couple of finer words to replace it with. He’s pulled this young blighter out of the soup more times than the entire Drones club put together can count to when we’ve got just a tad sozzled over a darts tourney.

And beyond all that, Jeeves has stood by me, no matter what ills befell the young master—excepting that incident with the banjolele, or, no, wait a tick, he still stood by the y. m. then, too!

Not to mention that he’s handsome as billy-o. I didn’t notice this at first, but I seem to notice it more every day. Though the practice has become less like noticing and more like being thwacked in the heart by Cupid’s sledgehammer—bow and arrows, what tosh—whenever I look at Jeeves’s composed face for more than a blasted second. Somehow the feeling makes me want to admire his face all the more, and, to be honest, it’s all the Wooster eyes can do not to wander lower, if you catch my meaning.

What luck that this miracle of valets resides in my home, always close and never close enough. How lucky, and yet how unlucky!

I wasn’t about to make any moves that would send my man packing. The only move that left me was to plonk onto the bed and try to think of some other way to smother these ungentlemanly feelings. Though I must say that if I hadn’t been able to find some other person to dump the Wooster heart onto at any of the get-togethers I’d been to in the past week—in the past life, rather—then what else could I do?

Oh, if only I could ask Jeeves!

~~

If my master had been unusually eager to paint the town red, as he might say, then now he was disinclined to even glance at a paintbrush. He moved around the flat in a melancholy that made him quite unlike the vivacious presence I had become accustomed to.

I believed that some venture of his had failed, considering the significant change from enthusiasm to dejection. What the venture had been, I could not say. What had been the purpose of his evenings in town? Evidently, this was not simply the case of a gentleman enjoying his youth, or he would not be slumped over the chesterfield as he was at that moment, his empty gaze toward the ceiling resigned to defeat. He was still wearing his dressing gown and pyjamas, a fact that ordinarily would have necessitated a corrective action considering the time of day. As the situation stood, I was far more bothered by his unusual sadness than by his incorrect attire, bothersome though that was.

“Sir, is there anything you require?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Is there some issue I could assist you with?”

“There’s nothing to be done,” he said.

“Then I am correct in supposing that there is an issue of some kind?”

Mr. Wooster turned to me—as he was resting on the chesterfield and I was standing, he looked up at me—and gave me that cheerless smile that had become too common a sight recently. “You’re always correct, aren’t you, Jeeves?”

“I could not say, sir.” There was no possibility of meeting his eyes then. It was too easy to tell from them that he had not slept very well, if at all. “Sir, if you would be so kind as to share with me the problem at hand, I would assist you as best I can.”

“Thank you, Jeeves. But there really is nothing you can do for me. I’ve already given it the old college try, and well, that’s all there is to it.” He turned over, and pushed his face further into the small pillow between his arms. “I must look a soupy sight right now, but time heals all wounds and all that.”

What was the wound that he hoped time would heal?

My employer sighed, and bid me to leave him in peace. Though he had been without a meal, without sleep, without company…

The symptoms of a broken heart, I thought.

It was clear to me then exactly what his venture had been, and I could not help but feel my own heart drop as I came to the conclusion.

Mr. Wooster had fallen in love, and spent the previous several days wooing the blessed recipient of his affections. This person had been foolish enough to reject him. It would be foolish indeed to rebuff a man of such rare kindness and sincere geniality.

“Very good, sir,” I said, moving away, though I did not mean it. I did not want to leave him alone while he suffered. It would be highly improper of me to comfort him in all the ways I wished to, however.

My employer trembled a little, as if stifling a sob. I pretended to be too absorbed in dusting a table to notice.

I wished to take him in my arms and hold him on my lap. If he were to cry, then I longed for him to do it as his elbows fell in place behind my neck and he pressed his chest against mine. I would cherish my vulnerable, heartbroken master as his tears dampened the dark fabric on my shoulder.

All the ways in which I could soothe my lonely employer beckoned to me. If he allowed it, I would undo the fastenings of his trousers and slip my palm into the most intimate piece of his clothing. Would he not be left frustrated after being so spurned by the one he desired? Would he not be aching for this kind of relief? I wanted to hear his cry collapse into a serene, unguarded moan as his cares drifted away from him and he found solace in my hand.

Flushed with guilt, I suppressed a sound that would have been most unseemly given my master’s distressed state.

 _How dare you!_ My head scolded my heart, my mind’s voice bitter with disappointment. _You are his_ valet _, Reggie._

My thoughts should have been entirely on reasonable plans to cheer up my master. I could not allow even my private contemplation to be so terribly unprofessional. I was only my master’s valet.

Only Mr. Wooster’s valet…

A completely indecorous and terribly enticing idea came to me.

~~

Jeeves gave me a rummy look all day, and I certainly couldn’t blame him. I was moping like, well, a thing that mopes—the branch of a parched tree, maybe, or better yet, a walking stick that got a good whack against the wall of a bank vault. Well, very few images can capture the soul of a Wooster who has finally realised that his love for his Jeeves is of the eternal and undying sort.

The only image that really drives the thing home is that of the young master curled up in bed, revealed only by lamplight, letting the water trickle down his face now that Jeeves couldn’t see him. I’d been fighting the blighted sobs for hours. Now it was late, Jeeves was surely asleep, I couldn’t sleep at all, and I could have a proper go at the weeping business.

Of course, this was muffled by the blanket I was clutching like one of the ring-shaped inflatable whatsits. One doesn’t want to wake one’s valet with the shedding of manly tears. It’s just not how things are done—you can tell because I wanted more than anything to wake one’s valet. You see, none of the things the Wooster bean dreams about are the things that are done.

There was a light, unobtrusive knock on the bedroom door.

“Pardon me, sir,” an equally light, unobtrusive voice began, “but I believe you are in distress.”

I should have known that he would sniff out trouble. Jeeves has a way of knowing these things.

“Jeeves, I—”

“Sir, pardon me again sir, the matter is obviously a delicate one and I would never presume to intrude upon your privacy. However,” he continued, in his perfunctory, paragon-of-valets way, “I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that it is my duty to see that your needs are satisfied.”

“Please, Jeeves, you don’t—”

“Sir,” he interrupted again, and I thought I heard a warmish note in his rich voice, “I pride myself on being the best valet I can be for you, sir.”

“I say,” I softly I-sayed.

“It would be highly agreeable to know that you have come to trust me, sir, and to understand that I hold all that you say and do in the strictest confidence.”

I wiped my face with the sleeve of the pyjamas—how long had I been dressed like this? Why had Jeeves allowed me such a sartorial blunder?—and hoped the dial didn’t look too dreadful.

Jeeves meant so much to me, buckets worth of meaning, in fact, even if I could never tell him how many buckets. (Innumerable, I would say.) I couldn’t have him thinking he wasn’t trusted, at least.

“I do trust you, Jeeves.”

“Thank you, sir. Then you will permit me to enter and give you whatever assistance is required, sir?”

I could have sworn under my breath at that. As things were, I swore into the blanket. Now there was no choice but to let Jeeves into the room, or else he would think me untrusting, and I couldn’t have that.

There was one straw left for me to grasp at. I could remind him that there was nothing he could do for me.

“If there is nothing I can do for you, sir, as you stated earlier, then I could offer a sympathetic ear.” Dash this man and his bally concern for the bally young Bertram! He beat me to the straw. “Discussing your problem might shine a new, more optimistic light on the situation.”

I doubted that, considering the circs., but now I really did have to let the poor fellow in, or he would feel rejected, and a Wooster never lets a friend feel rejected.

“I doubt that,” I told him, “but you can saunter in, anyway.”

Jeeves doesn’t _saunter_ , of course. He gracefully floats as a rule, and the rule was upheld today as the door opened and my man drifted to the side of the bed. I cringed when I noticed that he was pyjamaed and dressing-gowned. I didn’t need the reminder that I was being a frightful bother to a man who should have been nodding off.

“Sir,” he said, packing about three shipments of worry into the single word.

“Do I look that bad?” I wiped again at the face, where a few fresh tears had appeared.

“If I may, sir.” He produced a handkerchief, from where I couldn’t say, and I thought he was about to hand it over, but he skipped that step and dabbed lightly, almost sweetly, at the cheek.

That called forth another round of waterworks, I’m sorry to admit, sobs and tears and all—right in front of Jeeves.

“Sir!” What ought to have been a scolding turned out to be a cry of alarm, since I felt a reassuring hand on the right shoulder, and Jeeves was suddenly sitting next to me.

I felt an intense urge to kick decency to the kerb and wrap my arms around him. I wanted nothing more—erm, I mean to say, I very much wanted him to welcome me into a loving embrace. There were no such embraces scheduled, though, so I buried the dial against the blanket and tried to choke out an apology.

The feat wasn’t quite managed, but Jeeves seemed to understand me anyway. “Not at all. Take your time, sir.”

Jeeves said _sir_ so fondly, don’t you know, like it was the name of a dear child, and he was trying to assure the child that the little thing hadn’t done anything wrong. But if there was ever a childish brat who jolly well did do something wrong, it was Bertram Wooster. I had pined for my servant and pined for him still!

When at last I could manage words at a secondary school level, I said, “You’re a marvel, Jeeves. Staying with the young master like this, by Jove, it’s more than I could ask of anyone.”

He withdrew his hand from the shoulder. The loss made me sorry I had spoken at all, though I knew it would happen sooner or later.

“Are you prepared to tell me the cause of your distress, sir?”

“I can’t say that I’ll ever be prepared, old chap.”

“If I may be so bold, sir, I would hazard a guess that you have fallen in love, and that your feelings are not returned.”

Hazard a guess, pshaw! To a brainy cove like Jeeves, the signs of heartbreak must have been dreadfully obvious. “That’s about the size of it,” I answered, quite honestly, hoping he didn’t see the cause of the thorough brokenness of the heart.

Another sniffle escaped, and Jeeves gave me a respectful silence while I picked up the pieces of the broken composure.

At last, he said, “You have been in love before, sir. Those feelings passed, and will do so again.”

“Those times were different, Jeeves. It’s one thing to be drawn in by a spiffing profile and then find a schemer with visions of hot water bottles in rather the wrong places when faced head-on. It’s quite another to fall off the rocker for a, for a girl,” I said quickly, careful not to look at the face I’d fallen off the r. for, “and have not a chance of winning her over. This one’s far above the Wooster blot.”

“I fear that you are underestimating yourself, sir. While I do not mean to dishonour the lady who earned your affections, I feel obliged to comment that if she was not able to recognise your favourable qualities, then she is not suitable for you.”

I say, was that a compliment? “Was that a compliment, Jeeves?”

“It was an expression of the situation as I perceive it, sir.”

“Thanks awfully.”

“As I was saying, sir, a suitable partner for you would revere your kind and unselfish disposition, and would await your proposal eagerly.”

I was stunned by the kind words. “Do you think so?”

“Yes, sir. A lady would not be appropriate for you if she were not appreciative of such good character. Sir, do not let this episode dishearten you. You will one day find an appropriate match, and if she is worthy, she will be all too happy to accept you, sir.”

This talk of ladies and wives, though surely meant to be reassuring, brought my spirit low. I’d been silly enough to start imagining that Jeeves might have some feelings for the young master. I suppose it was best to have such imaginings shooed away before they made themselves too comfortable.

“You do think I’ll get married to a nice filly someday, Jeeves?”

“If you wish it, sir.”

I could find no trace of regret on my man’s features. His eyebrows were slanted with more sympathy than I had ever seen on him, but I discerned no grimace of disappointment. There was no reason to think he carried a torch that suited mine.

His eyebrows pushed a little closer together, and I was afraid he was thinking too hard about what I’d said. I couldn’t risk him thinking too hard about any of this, so I did what quick-thinking Woosters do best and blithered like a champ.

“I mean to say, a chap gets lonely being by himself, what? When there’s no one there to greet you in the morning—well, you’re there, Jeeves, but, well, we’re not so intimate like a man and wife, you know, of course, but a gentleman doesn’t speak of _that_ now does he, but he can dashed well complain about being so bally alone, since there’s no one at night too, you know, to see me off to slumber with a little kiss on the forehead, and then that Morpheus cove needs to give me dreams about something or other, else he doesn’t get paid, and I could dream about the person I’d fallen asleep next to, and what a treat it would be to look forward to waking up next to that person, I say.”

“Sir.”

Dash it all, had the blithering got out of hand? “Yes, Jeeves?”

He spoke so tenderly, just then. “I did not realise you suffered from such loneliness, sir.”

“Well, yes.”

There was a long pause. I wanted to tell him that I hadn’t been lonely until the Tuesday he’d gone to do the marketing and for the first time it felt like a part of me was missing. I wondered if there was something he wanted to say as well but couldn’t bring himself to. He was perhaps considering: _It does not suit me to serve masters who allow themselves to become so emotional, sir_ , or possibly, _I have realised that your indecent feelings are toward myself and I wish to give notice._

I could never have guessed he would say what he did say, or rather, what he asked.

“If that is the case, sir, then why have you never asked me to sleep with you?”

It took long moments for those impossible words to register. The eyes went wide, and the heart skipped a beat. My valet, who was sitting on my bed (in his pyjamas and dressing gown, I might add) _,_ had just asked me… It was unfathomable.

Almost too shocked to speak, I murmured, “What do you mean?”

A note of surprise lifted the ordinarily low voice of Jeeves. “Sir, did you not ask any of your previous valets to sleep with you?”

“N-no, never,” I stammered, quite bewildered by this questioning. I was tempted to proclaim that I would never do such a thing, but something about Jeeves’s surprise caused me to think I’d made some error, and I kept my mouth shut.

“Why did you not do so, sir?” He sounded perfectly confused.

I couldn’t think of anything to say.

Gradually, some sort of epiphany seemed to dawn on him. “I see, sir. You truly do not know.”

“What don’t I know, Jeeves?”

“Sir,” he said, his voice once again low and even lower than usual, “between master and valet, there sometimes exists… an understanding, sir.”

“An understanding,” I parroted, as if saying the words aloud would help me understand.

“Yes, sir. A master, if he is a bachelor and is so inclined, can ask services of his valet, services of an intimate nature, that might otherwise be given by a wife.”

If my eyes had been wide before, I fancied they were like saucers now. “By Jove! Is this common practice in the industry?”

“It is widely accepted, sir, though only in a manner that is unspoken. The arrangement must be kept discreet.”

“This sounds abominable, Jeeves! No man should make his valet do any such thing.”

“Sir,” he said, “such arrangements are not a compulsory part of employment. Both parties must agree.”

Oh, I had been so oblivious to the ways of the world! It still seemed so strange to me. “Why would a valet agree to sleep with his master?”

Jeeves, my perfect, inimitable, dutiful Jeeves, carefully took both my hands and held them in his own. He bowed his head solemnly, as if he were submitting himself to a king, and now my heart was speeding away.

“Because a valet may be concerned that his master’s needs are not being satisfied,” he said, his voice rich with something that made one’s soul tremble.

At that moment, I felt hotter than when young Bertram had been made to wear a suit during a heat wave—that was more than ten years ago and the memory still stung—though there was something a lot more pleasant about the heat I was feeling now. Pleasant but needy—desperate, if I must be honest.

“W-when you said some valets sleep with their masters, Jeeves, did you just mean that they lie side-by-side?”

His reply was soft and gentle, like the hands holding mine. “Perhaps, sir. If that is all the master desires.”

I was glad he was holding my hands, because the soul-tremble had reached the rest of me. “What else might they do?”

Jeeves raised his eyes to mine, and what I saw startled me. As I said, he had been speaking softly, and his hands were gentle, and so on. But what was in his eyes, whatever it was, had purpose. He could never love me, but Jeeves was filled to the brim with feudal spirit, and it seemed that he was ready to perform any service he was called upon for.

“Whatever the master desires, sir.”

To my great shame, that other kind of longing I had for Jeeves was becoming very insistent. There had always been the need to hear his voice, to hold his hand, to be held in his arms as he protected me from monsters and marriages alike. Cupid’s sledgehammer took another good swing at the battered heart, but now more than ever, a burning, physical urgency in me begged for Jeeves, even though he only saw me as a master to be served.

He would never love me. He would do as much for any master. Oh, but his hands were big and strong and still holding mine… He would take care of me… By God, Jeeves… Just this once…

In tremendous alarm, I tore away from Jeeves and away from the bed. “I, I’m sorry, Jeeves! I’m so sorry!”

“Sir?”

“I almost asked you to… Dear me, you don’t want to know what I almost asked you to do! I think there’s been some mistake, a miscommunication, as they say.”

“Sir, I think you understood me completely. A valet may see to the intimate needs of his employer.”

“But… I can’t… It’s not… A man shouldn’t take advantage of his valet! It’s not right. I could never make you do anything vulgar, old thing.”

Calmly, always so calmly, Jeeves stood up from the bed. I had a spur-of-the-moment thought to steal a glance downward and see if he had been affected by this bizarre chat as I had been. He was covered by his dressing gown, however, so I had no way of knowing—and then it occurred to me that I was most emphatically _not_ covered by a dressing gown, and the jammies couldn’t hide how badly I was affected from a man half as observant as Jeeves.

Still standing, with the shred of dignity remaining, I pulled the blanket over myself.

Jeeves proved to be observant as usual. “Sir, are you certain your loneliness has not affected you in ways I can remedy?” He sounded so nonchalant when I was such a nervous mess, though that was as per the usual, too. “It is completely understandable, sir, if you have become frustrated…”

“No, Jeeves, never mind it.” I couldn’t look at him anymore. He needed to leave, or else the self-control would snap. “I, ah, well, thank you for sitting me through a spot of tear-jerking, Jeeves. Awfully good of you.”

“It is no trouble, sir.”

“And thank you for, um, educating me in the ways of the world.”

“I hope I did not make you uncomfortable, sir. I confess that I never imagined you were entirely uninformed on the subject. I have found it to be common knowledge in my experience, sir.”

I felt dreadfully silly for being so oblivious. “You’ll forgive the young master’s ignorance, I hope?”

“There is nothing for me to forgive, sir.”

“Very kind of you. If you would leave me now, Jeeves?”

“Very good, sir.”

Jeeves floated away.

I plopped back onto my bed and tried to think about frightening relatives marrying me off. Still, it took me a long time to will away my body’s reaction to what Jeeves had told me. To think that I could have Jeeves in my bed, to share more than the nightly forty winks—well, that was just too much to think about.

Honour had stood strong, and I had resisted selfishly availing myself of my valet’s feudal spirit. I was remorseful that I hadn’t at least asked Jeeves to sleep by my side, but even if I had done so, I probably would have been wakeful all night trying to abate the—dash it—the bally shameful need I had for him.

I spent much of the night in a similar fashion, I’m afraid, all the same.

~~

I considered making inquiries to determine who the lady was that Mr. Wooster had fallen in love with, but decided against it. She had turned him down, and there was no reason to torment my employer (or myself) with further involvement from her in our lives.

Furthermore, it would not be appropriate for me to speak to a lady if I could not speak to her cordially. It is uncouth of me to hold hostility toward someone I have never met, but I was obscenely jealous that she had enraptured Mr. Wooster so completely. Moreover, I hated her for breaking my master’s vulnerable heart.

I pitied her, as well. She was unaware that she had rejected the most kind-hearted man in England. However, when my employer said little over the next few days, and the air of dejection that had surrounded him became denser with time rather than less so, my pity diminished significantly.

My fantasies of comforting Mr. Wooster, on the other hand, had not diminished.

What I told him about the role of valets had been untruthful, of course. It had been easy to deceive Mr. Wooster, since he is a trusting man.

It is true that I struggled with the lie—I loved my master, and I did not want to deceive him, or lead him down a path that would end in disgrace. Yet if I only wished to comfort him, and if he was comforted, and the whole matter was kept discreet, then that would be acceptable. So I told myself, in any case.

He had refused to take advantage of the sudden and heretofore unknown advantage his position offered him. I was not happy about this, though I was not surprised either. Therefore, I planned to make it abundantly clear that I was willing to give him what he needed.

There came an evening when Mr. Wooster was sitting in the armchair near the sideboard. He was not happily playing a popular tune at the piano, nor was he perusing the bookshelves by the fireplace looking for one of his favourite mysteries. He was sitting, with his head in his hands, dejected and alone.

He was dressed in a proper suit. A fortunate improvement in his dress had occurred since the melancholy began, though I would have traded it for his cheerfulness in an instant.

“Sir,” I said, delicately.

Mr. Wooster turned to me, startled. “What ho, Jeeves! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He made a show of relaxing on the chair. “I must have been falling asleep.”

“I am sorry that you do not feel better, sir.”

A guilty expression marred Mr. Wooster’s beautiful face—as if he had anything to feel guilty about—and he sighed. “I loved… h-her,” he said unsteadily, so overcome with sadness that he could hardly manage to speak of the lady. “I was very much in love.”

In that moment, I forgot my hate and envy and pity, and I wished that I could induce this lady to return my employer’s love. I wanted to do anything that would take his pain away.

I asked, “Do you require a shoulder to lean on, sir? Or a handkerchief?”

“No, Jeeves. That’s kind of you to offer, but I think I’m all cried out. If it’s all right with you, I’ll just sit here and wither like a tree does when the snow falls. I say, like a pine tree,” he sighed, “what with all the pining I’ve been doing.”

Such words were typical of him and his charming, loquacious manner, but there was no spirit in his voice.

“Pines are evergreens, sir. They do not lose their leaves during the winter season.”

I had wanted to distract him, though now that I was aware of the depth of his loneliness, I knew I had little chance of success.

Indeed, he simply made a dull grunting sound, out of politeness probably, and made no other form of comment.

My longing to comfort him, in any way I could, grew with each passing moment.

“Sir, have you forgotten what I told you? About what a master may ask of his valet if he so chooses.”

“Hmm? Oh, you mean—I know what you mean.” A fetching pink colour rose to my employer’s cheeks. “No. That’s a hard thing to forget, what?”

“You have still not made any requests of me, sir. It is highly unusual for a young man in your position not to do so.”

“What do you mean by that, Jeeves?”

Mr. Wooster was like a little lamb, I thought. So easily led.

“You have said that you are lonely, sir, and clearly a lack of intimacy is affecting you adversely. Certainly you do not wish for any kind of romantic attention from me, sir,” I somehow covered my own loneliness under a reassuring tone, “but I could provide for your other needs, as I have explained. I do have reason to believe that frustration of the kind is troubling you.” This I said delicately, as it was inappropriate to speak directly of my master’s physical state during our last significant conversation. “It is surprising, if I might be permitted to say so, sir, that you have not asked for my assistance.”

He glanced somewhat wistfully toward the sideboard, where I generally kept serving dishes and utensils, though there was nothing on it at present. “I told you before, I can’t do that, Jeeves.”

I closed my eyes, only for an instant, but it was difficult to look at his innocent face when I misled him so shamefully.

“Have I proven to be unsatisfactory in some way, sir?” Playing the part of a servant found inadequate, I allowed a shade of hurt—which I genuinely felt, since he had not chosen me as the object of his affections—to seep into my voice. “You are in need of a service, and I am willing to provide that service. It seems that you must think me unfit to assist you, sir.”

Surprised, as I had predicted he would be, Mr. Wooster turned back to me. “Jeeves, you, _unfit_? Never! I’m so sorry. I never meant to offend the feudal pride, you know. I just can’t take advantage of you.”

He did not deny being in need of a service, I noticed.

It is likely that I had the expression my employer has described as being like a “stuffed frog,” as I was endeavouring not to show how much guilt was weighing on my chest. I reminded myself that my master was suffering and alone, and only his honourable nature kept him from asking for the comfort he needed.

“Sir, you do not need to prevaricate to spare my dignity. Of course, I never expected that you would have any kind of attraction to myself, sir, but it would simply be a matter of seeing to your needs. I understand that I cannot compare to the lady who won your affections,” here I noticed him flinch, and I berated myself inwardly for reminding my master of a painful rejection, “yet I had hoped that I would not be so repulsive that I could not perform this simple function for you. I see I was mistaken. I apologise for bothering you, sir.”

Turning to leave my master’s presence, I hid a small, mournful smile.

I could not map the heights of his kindness, but I knew that one’s head must tilt high indeed to peer at the top. I knew this all too well.

And I knew it would only be a second until…

“Wait, Jeeves.”

I stopped, and waited.

“That’s not how it is. You didn’t bother me one bit—I hope you know that. Jeeves, it matters that much to you? That you help me with my, um, my loneliness?”

To the world, I was a valet, standing as still as a lake with no life inside it. My insides were very much alive, however, with love and lust and shame.

“I do pride myself, sir, on being the best valet I can be for you,” I reminded him.

“Well… if that’s how you feel…”

He hesitated.

“Sir.”

I was careful to speak in a monotone, as if I were offering a service that I would offer to any master, though that was most emphatically untrue.

“Do you wish me to take you to bed, sir?”

Mr. Wooster’s answer was not nearly so composed. There was only loneliness in his fragile, quiet voice.

“All right, Jeeves,” he said.

That was his answer. I had led him toward it, and yet it shocked me entirely.

“Very good, sir,” I said.

I offered a white-gloved hand to Mr. Wooster.

In the next moment, I felt a spark that had been dwelling inside me burst into a flame, and spread from the tips of my fingers to the hidden recesses of my heart. My mind, bereft of words, held only visions of bliss and sounds of joy. My soul stirred as if I beheld rainbows dancing amongst the stars.

The simple cause for these extraordinary feelings was Mr. Wooster’s hand joining mine. I would like to reiterate that my hand was _gloved_.

An urge struck me to tell him of the power his touch possessed, but I knew this would be a most inappropriate time to share the poetry he inspired in me. Nor could I save these thoughts for the long winter nights.

Suddenly, it occurred to me that he had done nothing other than accept my hand. He made no movements—I must have been very strongly affected by the situation, because it was not until that moment that I realised he was trembling.

“Sir?”

“Jeeves,” he whispered. “I’m holding your hand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is this cricket, old thing? I… I mean to say, you don’t have to hold my hand.”

I sighed inwardly, though whether from exasperation or fondness, I could not say. How could a person be this selfless and sympathetic? The evening would take a _very_ long time to unfold if my kind employer feared taking advantage of my (gloved) hand.

“I wish to serve you as best I can, sir.”

With his hand still in mine, I guided him to his bedroom. Though he followed easily, I held onto him still, as if he were a balloon that would fly away if released, afraid as it was of imposing itself on its keeper.

After I had helped him to sit on his bed, I closed the door behind us. It was not necessary as we were alone in the flat, but it gave the room an air of privacy and discretion. Furthermore, all light was turned off save the dim lamp, which afforded just enough illumination so that I might undress my employer.

My foremost goal was to make Mr. Wooster comfortable, that being the entire purpose (as far as I would admit to myself) of this evening. Certainly he held no attraction to me, so I reasoned that he would be more comfortable if he did not have to endure my gaze upon him—especially since my gaze would doubtlessly be an interested one, regardless of how apathetic I tried to be.

I did not look up at him as I knelt before his knees and began to remove his shoes and socks. Even in the dim light, it was impossible not to notice the telling sign of his need when I was so close to his trousers. I soon moved on to removing that article as well.

“Y-you don’t have to do that,” Mr. Wooster stammered. “I can get that, if you’d rather not.”

Did he feel obliged to show me such concern at every step?

“Sir, I believe it would be to your advantage if you would try to forget that I am here and instead focus entirely on what you require.” The fastenings came easily undone under my fingers, which was remarkable, considering I was becoming light-headed with desire for my kind master. “I am only here to provide a service to you, sir. Pay no heed to my presence.”

“Oh, w-well, all right.”

“It would be favourable if you would allow me to perform my duty, sir.”

“So sorry. I quite understand.”

“You need only speak to me if I am doing something that does not please you, sir, or if I may do something that would please you better.”

“Yes, um, rather.”

“Very good, sir.”

His trousers were now removed. Only temptation in physical form remained. It would have been easy to take off that last garment on the lower half of his person, and to take him into my mouth. I could bring his knees to rest on my shoulders as I learned the taste of his arousal. I could hear my kind, trusting master cry out in surprise and pleasure as his hips rolled instinctively and he grasped my hair helplessly.

My eyes rolled up in my head at these thoughts, and I nearly gave in to the urge to lick my lips. However, that sort of service was surely too intimate to be permissible, even now, when I had deceived my gracious employer into following me so far away from what was acceptable.

I merely stood up and removed his coat and waistcoat. There could be no justification to disrobe him further.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Wooster said suddenly, nervously. “I don’t mean to interrupt you, or to do anything of the kind, but, well, I don’t think I’m doing my part. Should I be helping you off with the kit?”

For a moment, I paused, perplexed—and then all became clear to me. It should have been obvious from the start. My employer thought that he would have to see to my satisfaction in addition to my seeing to his. Mr. Wooster was a just, honest man, so of course he approached all situations, even this one, with an unwavering sense of fairness. I saw now why he had been so apprehensive from the outset. He must have been dreading his imagined obligation to me.

“I will remain completely dressed, sir.”

“I say, well, that’s going to make things deuced tricky, what?”

“Sir, I only wish to see to your comfort. My own,” in my light-headedness I struggled to find a polite word, “gratification is of no importance.”

“Oh, Jeeves.” Suddenly, his face shied away and he crossed his bared legs. “Forgive my, well, my mental slowness there, old thing. Of course you wouldn’t want anything of the kind from me.”

It pained me that I could not correct this enormously incorrect statement. He could never know how desperately I desired him—that just as he was saying those words, my body pulsed with longing for him. I craved his touch, anywhere upon me, everywhere. But he was only trying to be kind. He must have been relieved to know that he did not need to reciprocate.

Yet I ached for him so badly that when I sat behind him, it was necessary to press a pillow between us—I could say that it was for his comfort, but really it was so he would not feel the hard press of myself against his backside. One arm I wrapped around his clothed chest, to steady him; the other fell lower, as I touched him just above the band of that most intimate piece of clothing.

At that moment, my beloved Mr. Wooster whimpered, and his legs gave a start.

This encounter should have been made short and perfunctory for my employer’s convenience, but so fascinated by this powerful response was I that, before I quite knew what I was doing, my hand moved lower, gently cupping that part of my employer over fabric.

His hips instantly pushed into my hand, and the captivating action was accompanied by a broken, wordless cry. It was full of youthful passion, and yet was tampered as well by gentlemanly restraint.

I longed to hear the height of passion in the generous man I served. Was it in my power to make him forget his inhibitions and lose himself to the simple physicality of this? Was there something more I could do—or worse, was I doing something inadequately?

Though duly reluctant to soil this experience for my employer with my unwanted voice, which could not have been anything like the voice he truly wanted to hear, I needed to be certain that he was getting what he needed.

My touch had become more careful, and now my fingers trailed lightly.

“Does this please you, sir?” I whispered in his ear, making my voice as quiet and inconspicuous as possible while still allowing him to hear me.

He whimpered again.

“Sir? Are you all right?”

“Please, Jeeves…. Please…” He was gripping the bed almost violently, and he was shaking. “I need… I… I’m sorry…”

“What do you need, sir?”

“No, forget I said anything—I couldn’t ask you to… Oh, I couldn’t… Just hold me, Jeeves, if you would, if that’s not too much trouble....”

One of his hands released its tight grip on the bed, and I felt it pass by my arms as it went past the final layer of clothing and, I realised with a gasp just overshadowed by his own, he began to touch himself.

“Oh, I’m s-so sorry, I just,” he murmured, “I’m s-sorry.”

I should have told him that he had no reason to be sorry, but I was so awestruck by what Mr. Wooster was doing to himself while I held him in my arms that I could hardly breathe.

“F-forgive me, I’ll try to be… oh… quick about this…”

His last plea for forgiveness broke through the spell that had come over me. Mr. Wooster needed a night of loving attention, not something hurried and unsatisfying.

“A valet strives to satisfy his master in all respects,” I managed to say at last, though my voice sounded much lower than I had meant it to. His timid hand, which had hardly been moving before, slowed to a halt when I grasped his wrist and brought his palm to rest on the bed where it had been previously.

My employer felt hot, even through his shirtsleeves, and he was tense with unfulfilled desire. “You’re too kind, old chap, you don’t have to—Oh, God!”

It was now my hand that had taken the place of his.

“Oh…” Mr. Wooster’s head fell back against my shoulder. “Good Lord.”

I felt his soft hair on my cheek. It was lovely and torturous to imagine nuzzling against those curls and whispering of my love for him.

There was a single sob. “J-Jeeves…”

“No, sir, do not think of me. Focus on your pleasure.” It was not my place to speak in a vulgar fashion to my employer, but if he did not object, then I did not need to remind him of that. “You must be aching now, sir. It pains you, sir, doesn’t it? All the desire and frustration you feel, longing for release.”

“Yes, oh, yes,” he groaned. “Oh, don’t I bally well know it!”

“Your heart and body have so much to give, sir. Give me everything—” I paused abruptly, fearing I had said too much—fortunately, he was moaning, beautifully, too distracted to notice my misstep. “Give yourself to my hand, sir,” I said, more appropriately, relatively speaking. “My hand belongs to you, sir. Every push, pull, and stroke is for your pleasure.”

It made me happy to note that he was losing his control. As charming as it was to know that he was courteous in all parts of life, the simmering sensation in my stomach burned in a hot, marvellous way when he began to use my fist in earnest.

He turned and buried his face into my dark coat. It was strange for our states of dress to be so different, though it was fitting, I reminded myself, for a servant who merely sought to relieve his master.

“You’re doing very well, sir,” I reassured him.

“You feel so dashed good,” Mr. Wooster said.

I then realised that my shoulder felt slightly damp.

Tenderness overwhelmed my heart. So much, it seemed, for being ‘all cried out.’

Mr. Wooster was nearly breathless when he gave words to the few, quiet tears that had fallen on my suit. “J-Jeeves, thank you… I need this so awfully… Oh, thank you, thank you…”

It was always a pleasure to listen to my employer. What he lacks in brevity, he more than compensates for with colourful, expressive language and endearing turns of phrase. It was no less a pleasure to hear him now, his every locution rich with passion, his every breath a moan of pure, unfocused desire.

As much as I longed to hear more, every demonstrative, ardent noise that escaped him added fire to the distasteful burning in my own insignificant body. Thus it may be clear why I did not know how much longer I could control myself if he continued to thank me.

My guilt for my continuing deception—that this duty was in the course of a valet’s normal services—might have made some trifling contribution to the matter.

“Not at all, sir,” I said softly. My hand closed more tightly.

He was insensible by this time, and I was glad for it. It was probable that he would not notice the small movements the lower portion of my body was making against the pillow, despite my best efforts to compel myself to stillness. If the pillow had not been so firm, he surely would have felt by now how much I ached for him.

Seeing him lost in his passion did extraordinarily little to calm me. It had very much the opposite effect.

I could not let such things distract me. My purpose was to relieve my master’s distress—to offer a modicum of comfort after his heart had been broken.

These feelings burned in my chest, and though I would have suppressed the words if I had been thinking clearly, it felt natural to assure Mr. Wooster when I was comforting him. “I will always be here for you, sir.”

My hand must have exerted just the right pressure at that moment, for I felt my employer stiffen with a cry, and then he went limp, as I relieved him of his tension.

I bit my lip, rather hard, as I fought to keep my own body in check.

For a brief moment I held him as he relaxed, but I could wait no longer than that. Gently, I helped him to lie down, consciously resisted the urge to kiss him, told him quickly that I needed to wash my hand but that I would return shortly, and made as rapid an exit out of the room as I could without seeming rushed.

The dim light should not have given my shame away, but I faced away from him as I left, to be absolutely certain.

I fear the lavatory door must have slammed quite loudly behind me, but at that moment, my mind filled with the sound and smell and sight of my treasured, heartbroken, vulnerable Bertie reaching his climax in my arms and in my hand, I could not bring myself to care. (Indeed, my judgment was so clouded that I had taken to thinking of my master by his given name, a most inappropriate liberty to take even in the privacy of my thoughts.)

It would soon be necessary to wash my hand, but not at that moment. No, I could not bring myself to wash my hand clean of my master’s satisfaction, not before I made use of that hand.

It was the most contemptible and unworthy action I had ever taken. I had never before so misused Mr. Wooster’s trust in me.

I finished almost instantly.

Afterward, I was panting, flushed, ashamed, and I also noticed a small amount of bruising on my lip where I had bitten my lip to keep from crying out his name. (His given name.) There was no time to stare at the mirror and marvel at the lovelorn degenerate my master had unwittingly turned me into. I could not leave Mr. Wooster in painful solitude. I had to return to him.

The toilet sounded very loud to my ears as I flushed my improper reaction away, as if the device was announcing what I had done to the world. At least my master would not think I had done anything other than use the facilities in the more typical, innocent way.

Remembering how lonely my master had been of late, I made myself presentable once more in seconds. I acquired another handkerchief before entering the bedroom.

Mr. Wooster was lying back on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a dazed expression.

“Sir?”

He turned to me. “Jeeves?”

“Sir, I need a brief moment to clean you. I will be done shortly, sir.”

It was a whole new test of will to clean him with the handkerchief without becoming distracted, but with a brisk pace and averted gaze I soon completed my task. Then I laid out his nightclothes.

“Are you going to leave me now, Jeeves?”

I sensed the deeper concern behind his question, whether or not he intended to reveal it. The way he said the word _leave_ was much too significant.

“I intend only to give you privacy while you change, sir.” When set adjacent to what I had just done for my employer, this was a ridiculous notion, and yet there was no ruse intricate enough that would do away with every rule of propriety. “Do you wish for me to sleep beside you, sir?”

It was an incredible question to pose to my employer, but somehow, I managed to make it sound routine.

“Please?” He asked with adorable shyness. “If you would.”

“Very good, sir.”

Upon exiting the bedroom, the first thing I did was remove my coat. Thoughtfully, I wiped my finger over the wet spot where my master had rested his face. The heartsick tears he had shed in front of me still weighed on my mind, reminding me of the love my master wanted and deserved—that of a selfless, beautiful wife. My own love was a poor substitute.

I quickly, chastely kissed the dark spot on the coat, and folded the garment reverently.

When I returned to Mr. Wooster, I was dressed in my pyjamas. They were simple and black, very different from the pair with bright polka dots that I had laid out for Mr. Wooster. (He had a strange fondness for these pyjamas, and while I was not fond of them myself, I knew they would help cheer him up.)

He was holding a wad of blanket close to him.

“I… I think… Well, dash it all, I owe you my thanks, Jeeves, don't I?”

“Sir, you do not need to thank me.”

“Is that how it’s done?” He gave me a sad smile. “Lonely masters take advantage of their generous valets, without so much as a thanks-awfully?”

“Sir, you did not take advantage—”

“Sorry, Jeeves, I know, I didn’t mean to go offending the feudal spirit again. Just, it’s not so easy to get that into the Wooster bean, don’t you know? I didn’t think you… that I would ever… I mean to say, ah, well, you were there.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Back to the main point, then. I owe you my thanks. I don’t want to hear that I don’t owe it to you. Even if I don't, just let me give it, if that’s all right?”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Thank you, Jeeves.”

“Not at all, sir.”

“For everything, thank you for everything. That’s what I mean.”

“It is no trouble, sir.”

“Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I think I should give you fair warning. If you lie down next to me, then I’m afraid I’m going to latch on to you, and I can’t guarantee unlatching in the near future.”

“Sir?”

“You… You felt so good,” he confessed, with a blush. “And not just what you did for me, you know. I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but being close to you has done wonders for the Wooster spirit. By Jove, I want to stay close to you. So, there’s your warning, old chap. You can shimmer back to your quarters now, if you prefer. We can let the whole thing drop, and never speak of any of this again, if you’d rather not.”

There was vulnerability in his voice that made it impossible to deny him, though of course I had no desire to deny him anything. I was gratified that I had been able to comfort him, and it warmed my heart that he wanted me to stay with him.

“I will stay with you, sir.”

Soon, miraculously, I was lying in the bed next to him. My arm was around him, and his head was resting on my chest.

My heart was beating for him.

Mr. Wooster’s heart had been broken. It would heal with time, and if he had grown to desire a wife, then he would find one someday. I had told him this before, and I believed it still. My employer was too kind-hearted not to attract what he desired.

When that day comes, it will be my heart that will be broken.

Until then, I will remain his loyal valet, who dutifully sees that all his wants are met, who outrageously tricks him into sharing his bed. I will treasure the intoxicating memory of this night for the rest of my life, and I will remember the disrespect I showed my master by taking advantage of his faith in me.

“Good night, Jeeves,” kind Bertie said to me.

“Good night, sir,” I replied.

~~

This amateurish narrator might sooner describe how a watch keeps time—and I know zilch about watches—than how it feels to wake nestled under the reassuring arm of one’s beloved valet. That isn’t to say that I know nothing of how it feels to wake in such a way, but rather that such a thing is simply beyond description. Warming the body and spirit is an important aspect, and a sense of belonging seems to be involved.

Maybe Jeeves could properly describe how it feels to wake next to the love of one’s life. Jeeves can be very poetic, you know. Though not, I suppose, when he was obliged to comfort a vapid, simplistic, superficial young master. I doubt that is the sort of job that puts valets in poetic moods.

My back was pressed against his chest, and my string-like arm was under his stronger one. Even through the layers of the pyjamas, he felt so bally warm. The memory of the previous night threatened to come rushing back to the old bean, but I managed to shore myself up against it. I say, I’d never found it so hard to not dwell on something, and I generally find it very easy to not dwell on things.

Of course, the reason for this shoring up was the miraculous valet holding me. If inappropriate signs showed themselves, then Jeeves would notice sooner or later, and he’d be furious with me for overstepping what was allowed, even when valets and masters had An Understanding. Not the kind of understanding that buses a filly and a cove to the altar, but another kind that I’d never known about before Jeeves.

It was still vague and neb… nebular? Nebulous! Or was the first word right? Never mind, I think I’ve given the right impression. How strange it seemed to me that a valet would spend the night with an undeserving and lonely master as part of typical valeting duties. I was hardly in any position to complain, though—figuratively and literally, I should add.

Once Jeeves shimmered out of bed and was safely out of harm’s way, I could think back on the previous night with all the longing in my soul, what?

“Jeeves,” I said, and then immediately regretted saying it, fearing I would wake him up. The sooner he woke up, the sooner he would biff off to some place more respectable than the young master’s bed. The sooner I could lose myself in my excessive desire for him, yes, but dash it, when did I ever get to have Jeeves in my bed? And holding me, by Jove!

“Sir?” Asked a very unperturbed voice.

“Um, good morning, Jeeves.”

“Good morning, sir.” He said these words as respectfully as he said them every morning, despite the rather unusual posish we were in.

“I hope I didn’t stir you.”

“No, sir.”

“How long have you been awake?”

“Momentarily.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” I was actually surprised by this, since Jeeves invariably wakes long before the Wooster log, but certainly it made sense. If my man had woken long ago, then he surely would have bolted out of the bed rather than spend another moment adjacent to yours truly.

With these thoughts in mind, I began to wonder why he wasn’t rolling out presently. Was he waiting for permission to leave?

“I’m sure you were just leaving, then,” I said, by way of giving the p. to l.

“Sir?”

“Well, leaving the bed, I mean to say.”

“Do you wish me to leave the bed, sir?”

At this unexpected question, I thought to turn so I could see if it really was Jeeves I was chatting with. The turning plot hit a roadblock, however, but it was the gentlest block that ever honoured a road. It was Jeeves’s hand, which was guiding me to lie back down.

“In the interest of fulfilling my duties to you, sir, I am willing to stay abed until you no longer have need of my presence. I confess that your recent solitude has given me concern over your emotional health, and I believe that providing you with as much companionship as I am able to provide would be of considerable benefit to your state of mind, sir.”

“You mean, you don’t mind having a morning lie-in with me, Jeeves?”

“If my doing so would be advantageous to you, sir.”

One might say that young Bertram was an excitable fellow, and in this case one would be absolutely right. I was positively giddy! Jeeves was staying in bed with me—with his arm around me, if you can believe it!

Unfortunately, when one’s gentle and handsome valet is curling around one in bed, one starts to think on the unbelievable liberties one was allowed to take with said valet.

Oh, dash it all! Here I had done so well to keep the memory at the edge of my mind, where the thing couldn’t cause too much scandal this morning. Now memory had come back just to push me over the edge, and down the slope I went, falling helplessly into my incessant longing for the man holding me.

He had, oh, dear me, what he did for young, lonely Bertram! He took care of me so sensitively, so confidently, but then, I never doubted that he would be capable in all parts of life. All that skill and dutifulness had been focused entirely on me. Oh, my goodness, that thought certainly brought a proper (I mean to say, improper) rush of heat to the Wooster dial!

Jeeves’s hands on me, his arms around me, his voice quietly drifting round me, everything coaxing me to sensations like I had never even fathomed before. To me he had, somehow, embodied nobility and temptation at the same time. He had been so beautiful, and I had been so weak.

Oh, I trembled like a tuning fork when I recalled how he had told me he would always be here for me.

“Are you cold, sir?”

How could I be cold with his arm around me? Put that fact with the memories of what he had done for me last night, and I think it was safe to say that Bertram was rather on the hot side.

“No, Jeeves. You don’t need to worry so much about the young master, what?”

“As you say, sir.” He still sounded worried, dash it. Of course, telling just how Jeeves sounds is not an easy task, but I thought I could tell.

I remembered him excusing himself to the WC. Even as I had been adrift in the bittersweet relief he had given me, I was frightfully ashamed that I had soiled him and driven him to wash his hands in such haste.

I also remembered hearing the flush of the toilet, and feeling rather silly that I had kept him from answering nature’s call. How little interest he must have held for the events of the evening if he had gone about such a mundane task!

There had been a pillow between us. There was one between us now, in the same place, if I wasn’t mistaken. I knew what this pillow signified, of course. Bertram might be nothing to write home about mentally—or physically, or regarding any aspect of the self, really—but in this matter, I had seen all.

Jeeves did not want to touch the vacuous, dull, oafish young master. This whole wheeze would have been too repulsive to him, naturally, if he had to let his private parts (oh, _Good Lord_ , really mustn’t let the thoughts wander in _that_ direction) come into any contact with me, clothed or otherwise.

Oh, dash it, I do mean dash it! The thoughts were wandering! Wandering in directions that I had just forbidden! Wasn’t it bad enough that thinking of the way his tender grasp had held me and soothed me—oh, my dear man—was making me breathe a bit faster? Did I really have to imagine what it would feel like to hear the cries of pleasure he would make if I could do the same for him?

At this point I decided to vacate the bed, before I could embarrass myself. Telling Jeeves that I was ready to rise would be no easy feat, however, since I wanted nothing more than to turn myself round and cuddle him like the dickens. Readying the Wooster fortitude, I took a deep breath.

Before I could say a bally thing, a hand of Jeevesian gentleness started moving in small circles on my chest.

The effort I’d just taken of vigorous inhaling was wasted, because that light touch, one that could have been affectionate had it not been motivated by duty, knocked the breath right out of me.

When I had found just enough breath to form a word, I picked the one that was running through my head and my heart. “Jeeves?”

“It is clear to me, sir, that your distress, which has been affecting you for some time, was not alleviated with a single night of satisfaction. Does this please you, sir?”

“Well, it does feel nice,” I said. Well, really, it did feel nice.

It was enough to send the young master into a comfortable daze. I heard some soft noise of movement, but I was far too absorbed in the feel of Jeeves against my back and his hand on my chest to think of much of it—or of anything, actually.

Then his hand was _really_ on my chest, slipping calmly past the newly-opened pyjama top to map out what hid underneath.

“Oh!” I was shocked, embarrassed, and trying very hard and unsuccessfully to keep my body’s reaction in check.

At my surprised cry, the magical hand pulled away, and Jeeves sat straight up.

I was even more embarrassed now. I must have done something terribly wrong. I looked away.

“I apologise, sir,” Jeeves said. “I had forgotten that you are unaccustomed to this service being performed for you by your valet.” Jeeves forgetting anything was as shocking as what had happened, but it seems even Jeeves could forget things now and then. “For a young gentleman such as yourself, sir, it is entirely reasonable for you to expect your valet to see to all your needs in the morning, as well as in the evening.”

I surely blushed when I gathered his full meaning. “Do you mean, Jeeves, that what you did last night for this young blighter, you’d do again this morning?”

“Of course, sir.” I do believe I caught an unexpected soupiness in his tone. “I strive to be the most suitable valet I can be for you, sir, and I am ready to see to your comfort at any time.”

“I’m sorry, old thing. I didn’t mean to imply anything else. You’re an impeccable gentleman’s gentleman.”

“Thank you, sir. Then I might be permitted to be of service to you now, sir?”

Jeeves guided me to lie on my back. I was lying down, on my bed, looking up at Jeeves, who was opening the rest of my buttons. He was at my side and that pillow from before remained, but I could see his face.

The room was still in the dim category, but a dash of sunlight was breaking through the curtains, and it settled on his face most magnificently. The shadow created on one side ought to win an artistic prize for the way it brought attention to those intelligent eyes and that aristocratic nose. Jeeves truly had the most perfect noble features and a god-like stature befitting a man of influence. If his first-rate brain wasn’t enough to make him prime minister, I fancy he could get the job by looks alone.

“So beautiful,” I murmured.

Fear zipped through me at once when I realised what I had said.

Jeeves had frozen as well.

“Sir?” He said at last, turning his stormy eyes to me.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, old thing. I let my mind slip away. The Wooster bean does slip away from the rest of the self, now and then. The rascal just doesn’t know how to stay in its place.” Senseless rambling had shot off like a horse at the races, and as if Jeeves had laid money on it on it, the s. r. showed no sign of slowing down. “You must admit that this is just the sitch that would make one thing of pretty faces, what?”

“Sir?” Jeeves said again, softly.

Once again, I felt a jolt of fear. “Well, I mean, that is to say, pretty female faces, of course. There’s nothing like the profile of a spiffing filly, you know. The young master ought to keep his mouth shut, though. There’s no need to make, um, this thingummy, any more uncomfortable for you. So this y. m. will be quiet as a mouse. You won’t hear a peep from me.”

Those handsome eyes glanced away from me again.

“It is perfectly understandable, sir, for you to think of such things. It is understandable, and very natural, sir. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” He helped me remove my pyjama top, and my heart was pounding away like a piece of construction equipment. “If I may ask, sir, are you thinking of one face in particular?”

Alarmed, I shook my head furiously. “No, not at all!”

“I confess that I do not believe that answer, sir. Forgive me for speaking on a sensitive topic, but it must be addressed if you are to fully recover. Your heart has been broken, sir,” he said, speaking with such a sympathetic tone, “and you could not be blamed if you are thinking of her.”

Oh, right! I had forgotten all about that. “Well, you’ve got it, Jeeves.” Leave it to my man to hand me a flawless excuse. “I’m having trouble forgetting about her. I was very much in love, you know. The whole affair has done terrible things to the Wooster heart. There’s really no fooling you, is there?”

Jeeves was staring at my naked chest. He was probably just deep in thought about how to solve his master’s pathetic problems, but I still shivered, breathless.

“I will do everything I can to help you, sir.”

He leaned in closer to me.

“Close your eyes, if you would, sir,” Jeeves said, as if had said it a thousand times before.

“Um, yes, of course.” I did as he said, hoping my inexperience wasn’t too obvious.

“If it is what you desire, sir, then you will one day marry, and your bride will be a kind, generous, and beautiful woman. She will be suited to you in every way.”

I whimpered—with displeasure at the thought of being shackled to a non-Jeevesian individual, but I managed to pass it off as a sound of want.

Jeeves rubbed a Wooster arm in a comforting way, and he whispered into my ear. “If it would help you, sir, then you might imagine that your future spouse is the one with you now.”

I didn’t quite see what he was driving at, until I felt soft, warm touches along the shoulder that could only be kisses from the model valet.

Hopefully, I may be excused for the way I went still from this very unexpected but not unwanted kindness, though I’m afraid (or should I be grateful?) that Jeeves mistook my surprise for discomfort. I also must have opened my eyes, but I needed to catch just one glimpse of a Jeevesian kiss.

He was, at least, not very shocked by my slip-ups, and he was patient with me.

“Sir, if you would imagine that I am a suitable woman for you, then any unpleasant feelings you feel in my presence will soon pass in favour of better things. Keep your eyes closed, sir, and I will endeavour to be as quiet as possible.”

Dear me, I didn’t like the sound of that. I longed to look upon Jeeves and listen to Jeeves. I longed to do a lot of things specifically relating to Jeeves actually, but he would leave me if he knew that. So I shut the peepers once again, and pretended to pretend, as it were.

“My wife,” I murmured, rather convincingly I think, since I resisted cringing.

Jeeves kissed the shoulder again, and he graced me with more exquisite kisses along the neck. It felt bally marvellous. I distantly noted that he felt smooth-shaven, though where he might have found the time to shave since last night, I don’t know.

After a few more kisses, I was groaning, deeply. I couldn’t help it.

My pyjama bottoms were being skilfully removed. By Jove, it was a desperate struggle not to open the eyes and watch Jeeves expose me. The last thing I wanted was for him to stop, though, and that rather helped.

A questioning touch lingered on the underclothing. As if there was any question I wanted him?

“My… my darling wife, please…” Even in these circs., I did my best to be polite. “Would you please touch me?”

After a few short moments, which seemed to last ages while my heart ached and my body burned, the underclothing was gone, and there was a firm, merciful hand closing around me.

“Oh, yes!” I cried, delirious. I loved Jeeves so much. “My dearest, please!”

I almost panicked, but Jeeves kept on as if he hadn’t heard me. Of course—he didn’t think the words were meant for _him_!

For the first time, I realised how this pretend-pretending wheeze really worked in my favour. The idea might have taken a leisurely stroll before planting itself, but once planted, it happily took root.

“Thank you so very much,” I said softly. “I love you.”

Jeeves’s hand settled into a slow rhythm for me.

“I love you. I love you.”

I felt another of those blessed kisses on my abdomen, and then another. There was so much Jeeves around me and yet not enough, not nearly enough.

“I’ve wanted you for so long.” I gasped when Jeeves did something particularly clever with his hand. “Yes, please! Oh, my love, I want to hold your hand while we stroll through the park! I want to rest in your lap while you read by the fire! Oh, dearest, I want to be yours forever.”

He kissed at the curve of my hip, and then my thigh. By steps, these kisses had become more passionate. He was playing the role of a loving spouse. My man is so generous, don’t you know. How could I need more?

“I need you… so badly.” The good kind of whimper fell from my lips. “I want to come off in you.”

One might guess that I was losing my grip on that politeness I mentioned a little ways back, or maybe my sanity—certainly my sense of self-preservation, since no doubt these vulgar words would be too much even for my tolerant valet.

There was a second of intense pleasure and some confusion before I understood that he had taken me in his capable, attentive mouth.

As if I had been caught outside Brinkley Court during a lightning storm and took shelter under the largest oak tree, I felt an intense joy electrify every part of my being, and like the cast of an English-language film adapted from a novel set in an African country, my vision went entirely, confusingly, blindingly white.

Surely, I cried out like something not of this world. He felt perfect, as if he were ravenous for me. I could only imagine what the doings looked like, and in my imagination, Jeeves had desire in his eyes.

Somewhere between reality and imagination I jolly well lost my senses, and, Good Lord—I do say, _Good Lord_ —Jeeves, the man above all the rest of mankind, held my hips and drank me down.

I say, what a morning this had turned out to be.

“I love you,” I murmured again, before I quite recovered myself. My eyes were open, dazed but open nonetheless. Jeeves, flawless as ever in his dark pyjamas, was floating out of the bedroom. I doubt he heard that last murmur of mine.

There was a rummy feeling in the stomach, but that bit aside, I was feeling better than I had in a long time. Jeeves had spent the night with me, and the morning too, after all! Why shouldn’t I feel utterly spiffing?

Perhaps because he had cared for Bertram out of duty, and not love? And I loved him more than I could ever say without pretend-pretending?

Guilt still harangued me for taking advantage of my valet, but I suppose other ignorant coves felt much the same when they first discovered that their valets might do this for them. (For the ignorant coves, I mean, not the valets. Jeeves certainly wasn’t doing this for his own enjoyment, regardless of how much I wished that he were.)

Once I became accustomed to the way things were, these rummy feelings would surely pass.

There was a flush of the toilet—it was not surprising that Jeeves was again so unmoved by Bertram’s disgraceful behaviour that he was going about mundane necessities—and soon enough, my valet was back at my side, in valeting togs.

He went about dressing me. Our routine was obviously out of order this morning, but it didn’t seem like the right time to comment on it.

When Jeeves drew back the curtains and the sky poured a bucket of the shiny stuff into the room, I thought—after a few blinks—that my man looked a little flushed. Was he embarrassed?

“Are you embarrassed, Jeeves?” I asked, before I could think better of asking.

“Sir?” His voice rose in that measured, musical glide that never failed to captivate me.

The manner in which he spoke was so typical that I knew I must have been mistaken.

“Oh, never mind it, old thing. I’m still adjusting to these new developments, you see. I can’t help but worry about you, I’m afraid.”

“Your concern is moving, sir, and entirely expected from a gentleman of your character. You, ahem, you must have been somewhat surprised by certain specifics of my earlier service to you. I assure you, sir, that I acted within the accepted parameters of such duties.”

“Oh, yes?” Well, it was jolly good to know that he hadn’t felt obliged to do anything unusual for my sake.

“Yes, sir. Seeing to the master’s needs in the way I performed is, of course, not required of one’s valet, but it gives me pride to satisfy your needs as fully as I am capable of, sir.”

It wasn’t the soppy outpouring of tenderness and affection that one received in one’s dreams, but in his feudal way, my dear Jeeves wanted to make me happy. Although it wasn’t love, it was more than the Wooster smudge could have hoped for.

“I don’t deserve you, Jeeves,” and I meant it.

“You are too kind, sir,” and for some reason quite beyond me, he seemed to mean it, too.

Then he went about his regular valeting duties. That is to say, the duties I’m used to seeing him go about doing.

It was almost enough to make one think that nothing unusual had happened. That was how Jeeves felt about the thing, I suppose. That it wasn’t unusual. That it was just An Understanding Between Master and Valet. It’s almost enough to make a chap laugh, if he doesn’t find himself weeping like a fool again, what?

If I didn’t know better, I might say young Bertram had been led into this somehow—by Fate, perhaps. A cruel bounder, you know, that Fate. Putting smitten young masters in beds with beautiful valets. It just wasn’t sporting when Fate knew perfectly well that beautiful valets could never return feelings of the smitten variety.

How long could I keep myself from writing love notes for him? Or ordering flowers for him, or giving him a flurry of kisses on his cheek? That’s what people do for the ones they are daffy for, right? Lord help me, I don’t even know.

Best to take what I could get, as anyone with sense would say, and to not spend too much time around Jeeves so long as there is soppiness threatening to burst from the dashed Wooster heart.

“I’ll be at the Drones today, Jeeves.”

I mentioned this plan when passing by my man in the kitchen. Jeeves paused in cleaning the dishes, and I dare say he looked happy, or at least his lip did that twitch that it sometimes does when he’s pleased.

“Very good, sir.”

It had entirely escaped me that I had been morosely sulking about the flat until now. Jeeves was pleased to see me taking on the day again. My dear Jeeves was pleased because I was feeling better.

I couldn’t start legging it to that that bally club fast enough.

“Before you depart, sir, I feel it would be best to remind you that, while the additional services I have performed for you are sometimes part of the standard duties of a valet, it is a private arrangement that should not be discussed amongst acquaintances.”

“Of course, Jeeves, of course, I remember. Toodle pip.”

~~

I hummed as I dusted the bookshelves housing Mr. Wooster’s collection of mystery novels. I hummed as I cleaned the brushes and stropped the razors in the lavatory. I hummed as I placed washed clothing on a clotheshorse in front of the fire to dry properly. One cannot dispute that I generally hummed as I performed my duties that day.

Oh, yes, there was the great shame of feeling my control slipping away from me, and there was the disappointment in myself for succumbing to my desires in a most unjustifiable manner. My poor master, who I was beginning to suspect was even more inexperienced in these matters than I had previously thought, could not have understood the egregiousness of what I did for him in his bed that morning.

What I had done was undignified, and demeaning to the station of a gentleman’s valet. I could pretend that I was not performing an unheard-of service when I had my beloved in my hand, but, my God, I had tasted my master. I had held him close to me and swallowed him down.

My feudal spirit, my personal code of honour, should have been roused to action by the call of my guilt. I should have quietly abandoned the ruse and calmly declined to provide Mr. Wooster with similar attention in the future.

Yet I could not truthfully envision myself doing any differently.

My master was lonely, and even if he did not long for my company specifically, I was only too pleased to give him any intimacy that would soothe his spirit.

I realised that my code of honour must have become warped, perhaps under the weight of my devotion to my kind master, because I simply handed Mr. Wooster his coat and hat as he left for his club, and then, seeing that his melancholy had lifted and he was his cheerful self once again, I generally hummed as I performed my duties that day.

~~

Running away to the club had been a rum idea.

I don’t mean that the chaps weren’t a spiffing crowd. Really, on any other day, I would have been blithely chatting with the pals and playing a ditty or two on the closest serviceable sound-producing instrument, but this was not any other day. This was the day following The First Morning I Shared a Bed With Jeeves, and though the eponymous thingummy had passed, being so beautifully cared for by him earlier rather stuck to the Wooster mind throughout.

The First Morning I Shared a Bed With Jeeves was, of course, separate from the First Night I Shared a Bed With Jeeves, which had only been last night. Quite difficult, I should say, to cope with such a momentous morning after experiencing such an incredible night.

As if that wasn’t enough, the difficulty did not end there. I could picture the Second Night and the Second Day and all the dashed incredible nights and momentous mornings ahead of me. For Jeeves, there was nothing out of the ordinary about this particular aspect of a valet’s duties, and, Lord help me, I was certain he would do it again for me.

I raised a glass to the First Night and the First Morning I Shared a Bed With Jeeves, though I kept myself from saying the significance of my glass-raising aloud. One doesn’t like to give a toast to a private understanding with one’s valet in earshot of the acquaintances, particularly when one has given his good word that he would be discreet. It’s the way these things are done, you know.

It would have been much more in my interest to climb onto the nearest table, with the brandy and soda in hand, and pronounce my admiration for Jeeves—something which I have done before when Jeeves has saved me from trouble, which explains why the young master knows how to climb onto tables with one hand holding a b. and s. This time, though, there would be a longish bit about sharing a bed with Jeeves.

But one must be discreet. And one certainly can’t shimmy around the room maundering on one’s love and affection for his manservant. One can’t do anything these days, it seems.

As my fellow Drones wagged their chins and tippled themselves as if the world was the same as always, it occurred to Bertram that some of his pals might have understandings with their personal gentlemen. I mean to say that one of said pals might have an u. with his own p. g., not that there are cross-understandings between various pals and various p.g.’s—though this blighted Wooster wouldn’t be in a position to judge whatever the circs. might be.

This thought had the looks of a morose one on the surface of it, but it actually brought a chuckle up and about. None of them had an impressive, god-like figure to, well, _understand_ them. I’d given myself completely to Jeeves about a week after he first shimmered through my door, and I fancied the notion that, in whatever way he would allow, I was his. I rather liked the thought that he was mine.

It was at this time that inside the Wooster fundament, both pride and shame—one of which is bad, I think, though I can’t remember which—danced around each other like two strangers having an awkward conversation. The pride part went to Jeeves, the other to myself. He was mine—is that what I thought? That Jeeves was mine? What rot! Oh, he was my valet, but I knew in what sense I had meant. No, he didn’t belong to me like that.

But he didn’t belong to any of the other coves in the club, and that gave me some satisfaction.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Jeeves, uh, if I may ask, m-might I do that thing again where I let my mind wander, if you catch my meaning?”

“Of course, sir.” I endeavoured to help my master feel comfortable by massaging the expanse of his back—he was lying down on the bed, his arms were crossed under his chin, and, unlike myself, he was naked. “You do not need to ask, sir.”

Mr. Wooster murmured his gratitude sincerely, which was like a blow to my heart.

A new routine had been established between me and Mr. Wooster. Spending our evenings in this way had become our normal practice, when there were no guests to entertain or unwanted engagements to unravel.

“Oh, yes,” was his endearing comment when I reached his lower back. “Dearest, please.”

He was envisioning the wife of his dreams, as I comforted him. This was the nature of our routine.

“You’re so wonderful at that,” he said softly.

It was fortunate that, aside from the warm glow that Mr. Wooster’s presence bestowed on any space he happened to occupy, I kept the bedroom dimly lit for these encounters. In the dark, Mr. Wooster could forget that it was I who was handling him this way. I could never forget it, though.

My hands travelled lower, continuing their massage over anatomy I had never before touched but had often admired.

Mr. Wooster’s voice caught for a moment, possibly from surprise, but then it settled with a relaxed sigh. “Oh, that’s lovely. You’re so good to me.”

There was a slight sting in the corners of my eyes. There were so many things I wanted to do with him, for him. There was so much poetry in my soul that begged to be spoken.

I was trembling terribly with restraint.

Some part of me was possibly trying to resolve my hardship vicariously as I held my master’s hips and guided him into a circular motion against the bed.

“Lord, please,” he murmured against his arms.

The sheets weren’t enough friction for him. They couldn’t be. I didn’t want them to be. I wanted to tease him until he would be so lost in his need that he could not control himself.

I led him into a more urgent pace.

He groaned. It was a long and gratifying sound.

That sound always did something to me. It drove me to reach for a jar I had placed by my side, which I had procured for my master’s pleasure. As I did so, I couldn’t resist giving him a light kiss on his back, which, in his imagination, must have come from his dream-wife, because it made him say, “I love you.”

Moving swiftly and fighting that sting in my eyes, I doused a hand in the slick substance from the container.

Without a word, which surely would have been most unpleasant from my unsuitable, masculine voice, I leaned over him and slid my hands underneath him.

There were a thousand ways I longed to touch my selfless master. I wanted to give myself completely to Mr. Wooster. But that would be completely unacceptable, so I did all that I could do for him with hands slicked for him and gentle kisses along his shoulder.

“Oh!” he cried, no doubt overcome by this show of affection from his imagined lover. “My love, yes.” A thousand different feelings filled me as he thrust so easily into my hands.

It was as beautiful as ever when he finished. Unfortunately, I could not stay too long to admire him. A quick exit to the lavatory was another feature of our routine, though it was not a part that my master needed to be concerned with.

Each time, I grew more worried that he would enquire as to why I needed to use the facilities with such regularity. I was confident that I could, as usual, make him forget such questions by holding him close and encouraging him to wrap his arms around me as if I were his beloved.

“You should have learned self-control by now,” I said sternly to myself, with a rather choking voice, as I pushed my trousers down and held myself up with a hand on the wall over the toilet. Again, I had tried to control my body’s reaction to Mr. Wooster, and again I had failed. I could not let him see the damning evidence. It had to be dealt with quickly.

There was no time to dwell on the need in his thrusts or the kindness in his voice. I could not take it slow. I finished as soon as I could, and with disgrace written so plainly over my face that anyone with less naivety than a cherub ought to notice it, I returned to my master.

He seemed concerned, which I could not allow. Before he could ask me unnecessary questions about toilets and their flushing, I bid him to lie down and think of love while I held him close to me.

After that, he was quiet. It must have been very peaceful for him to be able to imagine himself sleeping with the one he wanted. Knowing he was at peace made me feel content, and I slept well.

~~

“Is there something you require, sir?”

“Well, Jeeves, I think there is.”

I’d called him over to the chesterfield, where I was curled up in front of the fire. There was a blanket wrapped around the shoulders. It was a wet, coldish sort of day. Jeeves had foretold that it would be this morning.

He was waiting for me to tell him what I required. However, I was caught up in thinking of what else he had said this morning. It was one of those lovely thingummies about being pleased to serve me, if you can believe it. It had become the norm for me to wake up with Jeeves, and I still couldn’t believe it.

“Sir?”

“Oh, sorry, old thing. I got distracted, but I’m all here now. There is something I would like to ask of you. Jeeves, would you sit with me?”

Jeeves stiffened like a board. “It would not be appropriate, sir.”

I could have gawked at him. In fact, I did so. “We’ve done a bit more than sit together, and rather a fair amount of it, you know.”

There was a twitch of Jeeves’s eyebrow, which I had expected. He had refrained from speaking of our understanding during the daytime, so it was probably frowned upon by the industry standards, and anything frowned upon by the i. s. is f. u. by Jeeves. “I would not presume to take any liberties when I am not performing specific services for you.”

“But you have sat with me before, right here, I think.”

The stuffed-frog expression was in full effect, and I started to worry that I really was making him uncomfortable. “That was when your melancholy had been at its most serious, sir. It was an unusual situation.”

It bothered me very much that he would be so opposed to sitting with me again. I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath, trying to recover the spirit.

Jeeves noticed. “What is the matter, sir?”

“Well, I only thought that, perhaps we could be a little closer during the day, what? I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Jeeves. I’ve only been wondering, well, if you’re willing to do so much for me when I’m lonely at night, then you might bung a fortifying embrace or two in my direction when I’m lonely at other hours. Is… Is that not usually part of such understandings?”

There was a pause, as Jeeves seemed to consider this. Perhaps he was trying to let me down gently.

“I’m sorry,” I added quickly, “if I’m being an ass about all this and overstepping the bounds. You know I’ve never been involved in an understanding of this nature, so I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Sir,” Jeeves said, the stuffed-frog slipping away, “There is nothing to forgive. Your request is completely acceptable.” Relief shot through the frame upon hearing this blessed piece of news. “It is standard practice for a valet to provide needed affection for his master in the absence of a spouse.”

“Even if we’re not, you know, doing anything more…?”

“Yes, sir. I would be pleased to fulfil my duty of providing what you need at all hours of the day, sir, even if it is simply, as you say, an embrace. I am honoured, if I may so, sir, that you have informed me of this need of yours.”

I beamed at this. “Then you’ll sit with me, Jeeves?”

“I will see to the matter immediately, sir.”

He sat with me, by Jove. We shared a blanket in front of the fire, my head resting on his shoulder.

I told him about the most recent goings-on at Brinkley Court that my cousin Angela had written to me about, and he answered with a smattering of yes-sirs and most-agreeable-sirs and I-should-be-disposed-to-think-so-sirs.

I was a warm little Wooster, snuggled with Jeeves. It made the blanket and fire almost superfluous. Dashed comfortable, until I had to catch myself from telling him I loved him. Keeping the silence on that point didn’t dampen the whole convers. too much for me, though. This was Jeeves, after all. And this was one of those long winter nights when he could refer all he wished to the poet Tennyson or whoever.

So I decided to enjoy the experience, and nearly bowled over in delight when he started telling me about the latest gossip from his three strangely amenable aunts.

~~

A man has his limits.

I believe I reached mine when Mr. Wooster requested that I treat him with the easy closeness and affection one would share with a spouse.

There had been some small amount of self-control left in me before that moment. I had kept myself from fulfilling my deepest wishes. I knew that it was within my power, but I had held on to my remaining dignity and refused to manipulate my young, unsuspecting master into further depravity.

Then Mr. Wooster asked me to sit with him in the afternoon. He began to grasp my hand as he passed by me, and to rest his head on my shoulder while I brushed his hat.

I knew better than to mistake these actions for love. They were certainly the result of my master’s intense loneliness. He had nobody else to seek everyday physical affection from.

However, I was in love. I could do nought but be overcome by every unsuitable touch and improper embrace. No doubt my master’s heart grew no heavier each time he was close to me, but I could not make the same claim regarding my closeness to him.

On one evening, when snow was falling gently outside, and I had, owing largely to my fogged, infatuated mind, had the impertinence to light only a few candles so as to make the scene more romantic, Mr. Wooster had curled up close to me in his bed, both of us dressed in our pyjamas.

One does not like to illuminate another’s vulnerability, but it was clear that the pangs that cling to a broken heart, which had been diminishing under my care, had shown their unwanted selves once again this night, or else my master would not have clung to me so tightly.

His hand, in a slow manner that spoke of his inconvenient but endearing reticence to take advantage of me, quietly slipped into my own. The action reminded me of the way my soul had stirred when he had clasped my hand long ago, at the beginning of our understanding. My hand had been gloved at the time.

There was no fine kid leather covering my hand at this moment. There was only his hand in mine.

“If you would excuse me for a moment, sir,” I said. “There is an item I must retrieve from my room.”

Mr. Wooster continued to cling to me.

“Sir?” I prodded.

“Oh, of course. Sorry.” He released me, and turned away from me in a sad gesture that reminded me too much of his sorrow when his heart had first been broken. “Off to your lair, then. You don’t have to come back, you know.”

“I will only be gone a moment, sir.”

I hastened to retrieve what I needed.

As I returned to him, I presented the item.

“It’s one of your black ties,” Mr. Wooster observed. “Why are you showing it to me?”

“I wish to request your permission, sir, to use this tie as a blindfold on yourself.”

He blinked, stunned. “What’s that?”

“A blindfold is any material tied around the head for the purpose of—”

“I know what a blindfold is, Jeeves! What I mean is, why would you want to put one over the Wooster set?”

“Because, sir, I believe that attention of an exceedingly intimate nature would be of great benefit to you this evening, and I wish to do all that I can to assist you in imagining the situation as one that is ideal.”

“Oh? Oh! But, um, well, I’ve been doing that already, haven’t I?”

“The blindfold would aid you immensely, sir.”

“Oh. Right. You do know best. Carry on.”

I tied the blindfold around my master’s head, trying not to let my fingers linger on his face as the cloth settled over his eyes.

“Is this satisfactory, sir?”

“It’s bally dark, Jeeves.”

“I have no doubt that your imagination will provide for you, sir.”

After guiding my master to lie down on the bed, I fetched the familiar jar from where I kept it in his bedside table, and placed it to the side, with the lid removed.

“I feel a tad silly, old thing,” Mr. Wooster said. “I can’t see you at all.”

It seemed unnecessary to remind him that removing the inconvenience of looking upon me was the purpose of the blindfold. Instead, I leaned over him, and whispered. “Can you see her, sir?”

“Her, Jeeves?”

“The one you long for.” One of my hands glided under his pyjama shirt. “The one who is with you now.”

“B-but…?”

“I am merely a voice, sir. I apologise for the inconvenience, but one feels that events would be most satisfactory if you were given proper instruction.”

“Proper instruction, Jeeves? Have I been doing something wrong?”

“No, sir. I only wish to do as much as I can for you, sir.”

“Oh, I see. Something new is on the schedule tonight?”

On the surface, he sounded as blithe as ever, but there was a discernible note of nervousness in his voice.

“Tell me if you ever become uncomfortable, sir, but I believe your needs will be satisfied.”

“All right, then. I trust you, Jeeves.”

That was a gift that was not merited.

“As I was saying, sir, I am merely a voice, here to assist you.” Leaning over Mr. Wooster, with my face close to his, I was tempted terribly to kiss him. I resisted.

“And the one I truly want is in my arms?” Mr. Wooster asked.

“Yes, sir.”

He smiled. Though his blindfold was on, it was easy to tell that his smile was a beautiful, genuine article, and no doubt reached his eyes.

“Very good, Jeeves.”

The urge to kiss him rose again in me, and had to be quelled with significant effort. “You will now have to prepare your beloved, sir.”

“Oh? What for?”

With a smile of my own, which was surely a sad, pale imitation of Mr. Wooster’s, I lowered the clothing over the lower half of my body—thank God I had thought to blindfold my master, or he would have seen how badly I ached for him—and then I grasped his hand and guided it to the open jar.

A look of confusion passed over his face, though it was quickly suppressed by a rather transparent nod of the common pretending-to-know type.

My dear master did not want me to know how inexperienced he was. I had observed it, of course, but I did not want to discomfort him by addressing the subject, no matter how much I wanted to reassure him. Was he embarrassed by his inexperience? How could such a thing embarrass him?

“Do you still wish to,” my voice lost its reliability for a moment, but it soon recovered, “spend yourself in your beloved, sir?”

He made a little sound, something between a startled gasp and an urgent cry. “Golly, yes. Is that what’s going to happen, again?”

“Not exactly as before, sir.”

This is where his lack of experience would benefit me greatly.

After his hand was dampened, I guided him to a place no gentleman should ever have any association with on his valet. His lips parted slightly, with curiosity and perhaps imaginative awe, as he touched me.

The years I spent practicing unemotional intonation were of great use at this moment.

“Push in, sir, slowly,” I said. “You must be gentle.”

“By Jove, you mean…? Oh, I… Like this?”

My body gave a start, as did my heart. It was Mr. Wooster touching me, after all—one cannot help but experience these surges of bliss and poetry at his hands.

“Precisely, sir,” I answered, almost cringing when my words were far too soft.

“Goodness,” Mr. Wooster breathed. “My… my beloved.”

Another jolt of bliss and poetry shook me, but it was more powerful than I had the words to express, and devastatingly bittersweet.

I spoke again, after a pause. “Another finger, sir, if it pleases you.”

The response was a whisper, so quiet that I wondered if I was not meant to hear it. “It bally well does.”

This continued for a long and heart-breaking time. Mr. Wooster prepared his beloved, and I assisted him.

When I could wait no more, I told him that he had done enough. With regrettable impatience, I kicked my pyjama bottoms and underclothing completely away, and slid down Mr. Wooster’s corresponding clothes a trifle too quickly. I should have let him do it for himself—I should not touch my master more than necessary—but I was not my typical forbearing self, and I slicked him, admiring his readiness as I did so.

A gasp escaped him. “Oh, Lord above.”

I finished my task promptly.

“Take what you need, sir,” I said.

“H-huh? What?” was his reply.

Gently, I repeated my direction.

“I couldn’t, that wouldn’t be…”

“You are with your beloved, sir. You can do as you wish.” I thought back on his loneliness and his broken heart. “You want this, don’t you, sir?”

“God help me, yes.”

Respectfully, I murmured, “You wish to come off in your beloved, sir?”

“Oh, yes, please...”

I placed his hands on my hips, positioning myself so he could have me, and grasped the headboard to brace myself over him.

“Then do so, sir.”

His head was tilted back. No doubt he was imagining how his desired lover would look, anticipating him. I wanted him to be in me more than I wanted the air I breathed, but my feudal sentiment prevailed, and I waited for the sake of his comfort.

I fear I trembled as his hands wandered, and I felt his touch where I was very much ready for him.

“I love you so much,” he said. “I need you, so, so much.”

He was talking to his ideal lover. I needed to keep myself silent, but a small, desperate whine may have left my lips.

“Is this…?” His fingers grasped me more tightly. “Really…? Can I…?”

“Take your beloved, sir,” I all but pleaded, spreading my legs wide for my young master.

In the next moment, though my heart ached and my feudal spirit was ashamed, I felt complete, filled, and alive.

One was reminded of the words of the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning, _You were made perfectly to be loved, and surely I have loved you, in the idea of you, my whole life long._

He looked boyishly handsome as he always does, and he cried out for his beloved devotedly. It occurred to me that my clenching fists might damage the wood of the bed frame, though that would be preferable to giving in to the desire to touch myself inappropriately as I watched and felt him writhe and listened to the sound of his joy.

As was once written by Lord Byron, _There be none of Beauty’s daughters with a magic like thee; and like music on the waters is thy sweet voice to me._

Too many emotions were consuming me, and as I moved with Mr. Wooster, encouraging my kind, innocent master to use me for his pleasure, my soul was filled with such intensity and my body with delight that I knew not what sound I made. Perhaps it was many sounds. I only knew that they were all highly improper.

In one of his poems, William Blake observed, _Excess of sorrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps._

When my cherished master finished in me, a dozen more poems passed through my mind, and a hundred as he relaxed under me, relieved of his need and solitude. It would only be a short time before he recovered himself and took off the blindfold.

It need not be said that I moved to the lavatory with exceptional swiftness, and thought of the vivacious, selfless man I had taken advantage of as I did. I thought of the way he brought joy to others, and took their troubles away, without any hesitation, no matter what it meant to his own wellbeing.

As I did as my body and soul demanded, though what I could offer was a meager substitute for what they truly desired, another line of poetry came to me. This time, they were words of the poet Keats.

_I wish you could invent some way to make me at all happy without you._

~~

The heart quavered in a not-goodish way to see Jeeves soar like a cloud that’s rather pressed for time to the WC. I had seen him do this many times before, but I thought that he could wait a tick after what we had just done. The whole thing was enough to take one by the ankles, turn him ankles-up and shake him as if for spare change. I mean to say, I felt shaken, and I wanted Jeeves to stay with me and tell me that what I had done was perfectly all right.

Why did he have to leg it for the lavatory, anyway? It couldn’t be that he needed to answer nature’s call so urgently every time he did something like this for me. The odds just weren’t for it.

I’d started to think that he left to clean himself up after soiling his capable hands with unnameable parts of Bertram, but that didn’t explain the distinct sound of a flush, now did it? He could easily rinse the hands in the washbasin without resorting to the toilet.

There was a quiet, deep-voiced groan that I should have missed if I had not been straining my ear WC-ward.

Perhaps he was ill. But he hadn’t seemed ill before.

“Oh, Good Lord,” I gasped, as soon as the revelation hit me.

Suddenly, I knew exactly why Jeeves was in the WC. One gets these flashes of insight, but it seemed now to be such an obvious answer that I could not fathom why it had not occurred to the young master before.

My man Jeeves—my feudal, selfless man, Jeeves—was vomiting.

It explained everything—the urgency, the sound of flushing. Of course he would be doing such a thing. A paragon of humanity can’t bring himself to do his duty for the unimpressive young master and then be expected to hold onto his lunch. It just wouldn’t be fair.

Yes, that was certainly what has happening, and yes, the heart was sinking. Jeeves had cared for the lonely master even when the act was so repulsive. He hadn’t complained, or even told me at all that the whole wheeze made him physically ill.

I heard that blighted toilet flush, and a shudder of self-loathing went down the Wooster spine. In haste, I cleaned myself up and fixed the pyjama bottoms so Jeeves wouldn’t have to touch me again.

When he was at the side of the bed once more, in a fresh set of pyjamas for himself, I made my stand.

“We can’t do this anymore, Jeeves. I realised what you’ve been up to in the water closet.”

This seemed to come as a shock, and left Jeeves motionless. Of course, I knew the feudal spirit was very generous. He must have tried hard to keep this hidden from me.

“Sir, I assure you, it is only a meaningless physical reaction.”

“It’s not right! I never wanted you to be uncomfortable, old thing. Can you imagine how it feels, knowing that you cared for the young master even when it made you sick to your stomach?”

Jeeves eyed me peculiarly. “Sir?”

“Don’t try to hide it, Jeeves. I’ve seen through you this time. Each time you’ve bolted for the WC, it’s because you had to vomit.” Though some of my words might have masterful, I was far too angry at myself to be at all upset with Jeeves. “That is the extent to which I repulse you.”

Incredibly, my man was suddenly bucked up, or at least now he wasn’t stiff enough to hang the union jack from.

“Sir,” he said, “I have not been doing as you suspect. You do not repulse me, sir.”

“Of course I do! Why else would you dash to the toilet?”

“For a far more distasteful reason, sir. Ordinarily I would not burden you with the details, but as you are concerned that you are at fault, sir, it is my duty to tell that this is not the case.” A discreet cough warned me that this next bit would be a touch sensitive. “I have been relieving myself in the lavatory, sir.”

“Relieving yourself?” As soon as I asked, I saw what he meant. “Oh. I think I see.”

“Yes, I believe you do, sir.”

“Oh,” I said again, with a good helping of relief this time. “That’s all?”

“You are not disgusted, sir?”

“What? Certainly not!” I decided it was best not to tell him how my heart jumped like an unpractised but eager acrobat troupe at the thought, and searched for a more subdued answer. “Considering what you’ve done for my sake, that would be awfully hypo-something of me. What’s the word, Jeeves?”

“Hypocritical, sir.”

“That’s the chap.”

“But such an attitude would not be hypocritical, sir. It is my duty to see to your needs, not the reverse.”

“Don’t worry about it! I’m not at all displeased about it. You can do as you like.”

“I am very grateful to hear it, sir. You are most generous.”

“You’re the generous one.”

His lip twitched in an almost-smile. I was terrifically happy to see that everything was all right.

Now Bertram had a new problem to solve: how to convince Jeeves to, well, relieve himself, in the master’s bed?

If it was only a meaningless physical whatsit, I thought, then it would all be the same to him, right? And perhaps bringing our understanding full circle would make things a sight fairer about the whole wheeze, and would put the concerns of the personal code to rest?

What a thrill it would be to give Jeeves the joy he gave to me, and how light the heart would be if he would stay in my arms all night without flying off to the WC, which any Wooster smitten with his Jeeves would agree was on the other side of the world. I could squeeze him and kiss him, if he let me, and we would never leave this bed, or not until teatime anyway.

With these thoughts in mind, I cuddled like a pro when he climbed into bed with me. Fortunately, Jeeves tolerated this impressive level of bedtime cuddling. It’s enough to make a man feel terribly guilty, but terribly comfy also.

~~

I was extremely grateful that Mr. Wooster had not been disappointed in me for my failure to control my compulsions. Here I had yet another reminder of Mr. Wooster’s kind-hearted leniency.

This was the compassionate man I was leading astray—whose honour I was disgracing with my ruse.

There were occasions I had almost convinced myself that this understanding between us was justified by my master’s loneliness. Such reasoning was not contrary to the feudal spirit. Unfortunately, the immense pleasure I took in being the one to satisfy his needs kept me from successfully reaching such a conclusion.

In any case, I knew that I could not maintain this ruse indefinitely. I was confident in my ability to keep Mr. Wooster from discovering that valets and masters did not ordinarily share intimate moments, but there would come a day when a more suitable partner appeared for my master.

Thoughts like these kept me from listening too closely to my conscience. When one’s heart has been unwittingly taken and no way can be found of retrieving the item, one naturally wishes to take advantage of all the time one has.

I knew beyond any doubt that I would continue to love Mr. Wooster all my life. I would serve him however I could. But it would be the memories of this time I had as his source of comfort and solace that would sustain me when he found his happiness elsewhere.

“Jeeves, do you have a moment?”

My master’s voice surprised me, as I had been somewhat lost in thought as I was folding his clothes in his bedroom, though it was more correct to say that I had been gazing inattentively through the window. Mr. Wooster had been reading one of his novels of suspense a moment ago, but there was no book in his hands now.

“I am at your disposal, sir.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, I’d like to talk to you about that, uh, whatsit we did the other day, if you know to what I refer.”

“I do indeed, sir.” I spoke quietly, as fear had struck me, and I wondered if finally I had gone too far—if, on reflection, Mr. Wooster had been disgusted by the intimate way I had comforted him.

“Well, that was, I mean to say… Golly, I don’t know how to say this…”

Regardless of the situation, I endeavoured to be of assistance to my master. “Were matters unsatisfactory, sir?”

“Oh, Heavens, no!” A wide grin blossomed on his face, and a sweet feeling of relief and joy swept through me. “No, Jeeves, I have nothing but the most glowing reviews for your performance. You seem to know just what the young master needs. Oh, I wish you knew how true it was that no one could have served me better.”

The compliment made me feel warm and content. It delighted me that Mr. Wooster did enjoy my attention, and that he would not rather have some other valet this way. “It is good of you to say so, sir.”

“In fact, I thought the whole wheeze was so spiffing, that, well, you see,” he began. I noticed that Mr. Wooster’s fingers were performing a charmingly nervous action often referred to as twiddling. I also noticed that his eyes were now gazing inattentively out the window as mine had been previously. “Can we do it again?”

“If you wish it, sir,” were the composed words I spoke, though my thoughts were much more emphatic on my agreement.

“That’s all right with you, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The proceedings weren’t uncomfortable for you?”

“No, sir.”

“Splendid.”

Mr. Wooster sounded pleased, but his fingers continued in their twiddling preoccupation, and he rocked on his feet unsteadily.

“Sir, is there something else you wished to speak to me about?

“Yes, but I’m not sure if it’s fit to asked. As you know, I’ve never had an understanding with a valet before, and I’m afraid I don’t know my way around the territory. I’m afraid I might offend you.”

“You cannot say anything that would offend me, sir. I am honoured to be your guide in these matters. If you would tell me what is on your mind, sir?”

He turned to me as if to pose his question, but his resolve wavered. “No, never mind, Jeeves. I’ve decided against. It was a dashed silly idea.”

Intending to reassure my master, I placed a hand on his shoulder. Even this small act was one I would never do for any other employer, and one that I would not have dared with Mr. Wooster in times past. It gave me a fearfully heady pleasure simply to touch his shoulder now, against all my professional instincts—especially when he looked at me again, this time with wide, trusting eyes.

“Jeeves.”

“Tell me, sir.”

Quickly, and softly, he said, “We could try a switch of positions, perhaps?”

To say that I was surprised would be a considerable understatement.

“Well, Jeeves, I’m just curious about what it’s like on the other end. It must be spiffing. I suppose you got something out of it, what?”

“Am I correct, sir, in inferring your meaning to be that you are interested in taking the physical role that I fulfilled the previous evening?”

Mr. Wooster took a deep breath. “Yes, Jeeves, that’s what I mean.”

My heart and mind raced at the thought that Mr. Wooster would request that I have him in such a way, but another, less shocking explanation soon presented itself. “Your preference is to be atop me, sir?”

“Oh, hmm. You certainly are thorough about these things, but that’s how you are with everything, isn’t it? I can’t say that I have a strong feeling one way or another on that front. I could be sideways for all it matters, so long as you’re doing as I asked.”

Mr. Wooster’s tone was a light and unassuming one, but his words were so masterful, and the sinful combination sent a bolt of lust down my body. “Oh, sir.”

The implication of his words seemed to occur on my employer, even if the precise meaning of the response provoked in me did not. “Oh, ah, Jeeves, I didn’t mean to say it like that, you know. You don’t have to do as I asked.”

“It is gratifying to know that you have become comfortable enough with our arrangement, sir, that you would inform me of your needs so plainly.”

“I don’t want to be giving you demands, old thing. Not in these matters. That can’t be right.”

“To do so is entirely correct of you, sir, and very helpful, as it will aid me greatly to know exactly how I may best serve you.”

“Ah, well then.” He lacked the assuredness of one who has truly been convinced. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

It was clear to me that my kind employer was still reluctant to give me orders in these matters as he did in other facets of life, regardless of what I told him.

I took the liberty of drawing the curtains over the window. A distinct feeling of privacy settled in the bedroom as the light was dimmed and we were hidden from the world that stood without.

“Jeeves?”

Taking a step around Mr. Wooster, I closed the bedroom door behind us, for not the first time. I found it contributed to a certain atmosphere.

Upon facing Mr. Wooster once more, I said, in a voice that sounded rather lower to my own ears than it had previously, “I am at your disposal sir.”

“My God, Jeeves, you don’t mean… In the middle of the day?”

“You may give me any requests, at any time, sir. As long as we conduct ourselves discreetly, of course.”

It was necessary to show Mr. Wooster the truth of this statement. I began to undress myself.

When I had moved on to buttons of my waistcoat, I noticed that Mr. Wooster had said nothing and done nothing. He was staring at me, gaping with amazement.

“Do you not intend to undress, sir? Or would you rather that I undress you?”

“I’m at a bit of a loss,” Mr. Wooster said at last.

“You gave me a specific request, sir. You referred to a switch of positions, I believe.”

I observed that Mr. Wooster’s cheeks were bright red. Embarrassment is a very fetching look on my master.

“Was the request not made in seriousness?” I had not considered that it might have been some kind of joke. I should have known that a gentleman would not request such a thing, even if he were indeed curious.

“No, I was serious. I just rather thought the goings-on would be going on in the evening. That’s the way things are done, isn’t it?”

“Things are to be done, sir, as you wish them to be.”

His open, innocent eyes were captivating me. In a vague sort of way, I noticed my hand had reached forward, and my finger was trailing gently down the side of his face.

“Aside from discretion, sir, we are only bound by your desires.”

“Jeeves,” he murmured, “why is it so bally important that we be discreet?”

“Sir?”

“I have to say, there are times when I want so badly to take you in the arm and go out dancing with you. I’ve heard you know your way through a step or two.” Shock had evidently registered on my face, as Mr. Wooster quickly waved his hands. “I mean, well, that’s what I’d do with a wife, right? But I don’t have one, Jeeves, and you said you’d do what a wife would do.”

The thought of dancing with Mr. Wooster, in public no less, had been a powerful one, and the reply I was necessitated to give pained me deeply. “Sir, discretion is of absolute importance for a master and valet in these circumstances.” I stepped away from him. “If you ever should make any implication to another that relations exist as they do between us, I am afraid that I will be forced to give notice.”

I had to be firm, or else Mr. Wooster would endanger himself—he did not seem to be aware of the consequences that would follow such publicity, or perhaps he thought a master and his valet were exempt from society’s ire. Though it was therefore necessary to threaten Mr. Wooster, I did not enjoy doing so, nor did I appreciate witnessing the hurt in his features.

“I see,” he said, and I was uncertain if he truly meant it to sting, though that was the effect.

A return to the previous subject would be agreeable.

“But if you would make your wishes known, sir, I would be pleased to see to them.”

He shook his head, his eyes on the floor. “I’m going to have a good long sit, I think.”

I hesitated. “Very good, sir.”

One was filled with sympathy and concern as the young master opened the door and left the room. Of course, in such circumstances, one takes some time to gather oneself before returning the curtains to their open state.

~~

I hadn’t left Jeeves’s presence with the piano in mind, exactly. It was only thoughts of dances that I could never have that floated about the head. But I was drawn to the object, and the fingers started pushing on the keys.

Jeeves would be impeccable at dancing. Even if I hadn’t heard it from witnesses, I knew he was impeccable at everything, and even if there was some subject that was new to him, you could give the man a few days and he’d become the world’s foremost expert on said subject.

The distinct sound of humming could be heard, and at some point I realised that this sound fell from my own lips, or I suppose the nostrils since the lips were closed. A sound falling from the nostrils doesn’t have the same element of drama to it, though. I’m sure Jeeves could think of a phrase packed to the ceiling with drama to describe the act of humming. My man can do anything.

I’ve asked before and I’ll ask again: why does a cove like that stay on as my valet?

“ _I want to be happy, but I won’t be happy, ‘til I make you happy, too_.”

Oh Lord. Now I was singing! And this ditty in particular! How could I go on about happiness when I was mourning all the dances I’d never have with Jeeves?

“ _Life’s really worth living, when we are mirth-giving, why can’t I give some to you?”_

Shouldn’t I be upset with Jeeves? He threatened to give notice; but I couldn’t hold that against him. He and his feudal spirit probably would’ve agreed to dance for my sake if things weren’t as they were.

_“When skies are grey, and you say you are blue, I’ll send the sun smiling through.”_

It would be lovely to kiss Jeeves on the cheek as I danced with him. It would be even better if he felt loved and cherished for it. I was positively dippy for Jeeves, and I wished I could tell him so.

_“I want to be happy, but I won’t be happy, ‘til I make you happy, too.”_

I wasn’t worthy of Jeeves. The entirety of the Mayfair area wasn’t worthy of him—and it’s a quite a nice area, don’t you know. There wasn’t a chance of making Jeeves as happy as he made me. I couldn’t even give him a dance.

Hadn’t I approached Jeeves with a different problem in mind?

I clapped my forehead when I remembered that other scheme I had going. The one where I unscrupulously requested my valet to do unmentionable things to me with the thought of driving him to spend himself in me, you know, _that_ scheme. (It wasn’t all for the scheme’s sake—I really did want to know what made Jeeves make those blissful sighs the previous night.)

The scheme had popped into my thoughts this morning when Jeeves told me what sort of day it was, regarding weather and the like. I don’t mean to say that the idea was inspired by Jeeves’s report, that was just when it happened. Or maybe there was something inspiring about Jeeves doing one of the things he often does for me.

My idea was that, if Jeeves was doing whatsit to me, and I somehow managed to hold off on, well, finishing—I wasn’t so confident about such self-control of my part, but if I managed that, then being the man he is, Jeeves wouldn’t leave me until I’d been satisfied, and surely he’d lose control of himself sooner or later, right?

I know the man isn’t drawn to me specifically, but I also know now that he feels enough of a bodily reaction, if that’s what he called it, that my plan had some hope of success.

And then, when all was said and done, because I sure as hell wouldn’t last if Jeeves took me like that, he would see that the young master was more than happy to see his valet satisfied during their activities, even when the two of them were in the most intimate of positions.

Dashed good plan, I thought. This would put an end to that lavatory business. The one bit I wasn’t confident about could use some extra consideration, but the rest was sound.

As for dancing, there was nothing I could do.

Despite what some may tell you, dancing requires more than two willing partners and evening costume. In my opinion, you need at least three musicians—playing in harmony, preferably—as well as glittering lights, and plenty of other dancers all around you, or else you can’t get into the proper feeling of the thing.

“Sir.” Jeeves shimmered into the sitting room, with tea on a salver.

I gratefully accepted the tea. It seemed like just the thing. “Thanks, Jeeves.”

“You do not need to thank me, sir, particularly when I have been insufficient as your valet.”

“Huh?” The idea was so strange that I hardly understood him. “You, insufficient?”

“I failed to consider that a gentleman may desire the activities which a couple might enjoy together in public spaces—in this instance, dancing.”

I smiled at Jeeves. “I’ll get by without it, old thing.”

“Sir, the understanding that exists between us it not meant to restrict you in any way. You may, of course, attend such festivities where dancing would be typical and seek an appropriate partner for the activity. It is often the way one meets prospective partners for marriage, sir.”

No doubt Jeeves thought I’d been looking for that wife-of-my-dreams sort all this time. Questions would be raised if I told him those prospective partners could toddle off the way they came.

“Sound advice, Jeeves,” I said. “I’ll go out tonight.” He would suspect me if I didn’t, wouldn’t he?

“Very good, sir.”

I wish I could say that Jeeves seemed disappointed, but my man was as unreadable as ever.

“Sir, am I to understand that the previous request you made regarding this evening is to be discarded?”

What was he talking about? Oh, right!

“Heavens, no,” Bertram boldly declared, perhaps a touch too forthright in his boldness.

One of Jeeves’s eyebrows twitched. “Sir?”

“Um, we’ll put that off ‘til tomorrow, of course. I mean, Jeeves, if the young master doesn’t find that special someone, then he’ll need some comforting the next day, what?”

“I understand, sir. One might expect so, sir.”

Well, now I had a Jeeves-less night ahead of me.

I may not be a meteorologist, or whoever would be the authority one would ordinarily turn to on the subject of night, but I can say that the worst kind of n. is a Jeeves-less one.

~~

I should not have been surprised if Mr. Wooster had been very late in returning to the flat, with the same lack of timeliness but hopefully more mirthfulness than when he had returned from festivities while recovering from his heartbreak.

To my surprise, he returned well before the earliest hours of the next day’s morning. Furthermore, he was in a state requiring immediate attention. I happened to be awake—the fear that Mr. Wooster would fall in love this evening troubled me more than I should admit—and helped my employer into the sitting room, receiving him from the unfortunate night-time attendant who had helped Mr. Wooster this far.

I thanked the attendant and closed the door after seeing him out.

My employer drawled a greeting to me, and stumbled as he moved. There was a certain smell about his person, and his hat was regretfully worn with the rear end facing forward. Mr. Wooster had evidently had an invigorating evening.

I began mixing a restorative immediately.

“Sorry to be a bother, Jeeves.”

“Not at all, sir, though I confess I had not expected you to return this early. Did you have an enjoyable time?”

“Goodness, yes. Catsmeat did this topping impression of—well, I don’t remember who, but it was topping. And Barmy did this thing… And Tuppy had a something-or-other…”

These were sobriquets belonging to Mr. Wooster’s acquaintances. “You went to your club, sir?”

“Where else would I fling myself to?”

“Sir, as I am sure you are aware, the Drones Club has only male members. I believed, sir, that your intent was to dance with eligible young ladies.“

Mr. Wooster sighed as he grasped the drink I had prepared. “What would be the point of that? I don’t want to dance with any of them. The Wooster heart belongs to someone already. Someone who doesn’t want the thing, and who could blame them?”

This was devastating news. Mr. Wooster had not fully recovered from the influence of the unknown woman who had broken his heart. What was also devastating was my detestable relief that he had not met the suitable wife he longed for in person.

“Before I imbibe your curer of all ills, Jeeves, there’s something I’d like to ask.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Is it all right if the y. m. has need of you tonight? I mean, um, can we move the plans for tomorrow up a bit?”

Mr. Wooster’s shy tone had unmistakable implications. All the selfish disappointment I had experienced throughout the day became something closer to blissful exultation. A pleasant shiver passed through me, but along with any blissful feelings, I kept such shivers firmly under control.

“Yes, sir.”

He graced me with a lovely smile. Then he drank the restorative, and shuddered as the drink has its medicinal effect. His posture straightened, though it never stays that way for long, and his gaze suddenly cleared, though he would not look at me directly. “These restoratives of yours never fail, Jeeves.”

“I am glad to hear it, sir.” Respectfully, I cleared my throat. “Are you still in need of service?”

Through practice, I was becoming rather adept at posing such inadvisable words very calmly indeed, though I hoped my master never learned to receive them in an unmoved manner. He blushes in such a charming way that is more youthful and innocent than even his relatively young age can account for.

“If it’s all right,” he said sweetly, placing the glass in his hands to the side.

“It is perfectly all right, sir. If you would come with me, sir.”

Mr. Wooster remained sitting.

“Sir?”

“I’m nervous, Jeeves,” he admitted.

“Sir, we need not follow through with your earlier request. It was an unusual request, and I am sure it can be explained as a whim.”

“It wasn’t a whim. I say, well, um, I’m curious about it. Is that wrong of me?”

“No, sir.”

“I know it’s not something a wife could do for me, exactly.”

“I hesitate to contradict you, sir, but that is not entirely true. There are… items, utilised by some wedded couples to add variety.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, sir. Many gentlemen find being in such a position to be a pleasurable experience. It is not unheard of for a master involved in an understanding with his valet to make this particular request.”

I imagined it would be quite rare were such understandings truly common, but there was no reason for me to inform Mr. Wooster of this, since we were in truth the only two gentlemen to my knowledge in such a situation.

“Jeeves, did you enjoy it?”

I could hardly believe that Mr. Wooster asked this question, which directly acknowledged my involvement in these matters. He must have been concerned, since normally he prefers to imagine that it is only the wife of his dreams who has been intimately involved with him.

“It was a pleasurable experience, sir.” I spared him the poetry.

My trusting master was merely curious. He sought the amusement of novelty, and nothing more. He did not understand what our previous evening had meant to me, nor did he realise the significance of what he was requesting.

Even if the significance was unknown to him, I was determined to treat Mr. Wooster with all the gentleness and respect that my beloved gentleman deserved.

“Thank you, Jeeves.”

I could have cringed at the guilt that surged through me then.

“This way, sir.”

~~

Just as we ankled into the bedroom, I remembered the one snag in my Jeeves-related plan. The solution to it had just come to me, along with other less relevant insights. When the corpus is slammed by one of Jeeves’s restoratives, the brain runs like a car with the accelerator taped down, you know.

The key wasn’t that I had to control myself forever, just longer than Jeeves. That was impossible, unless I had an unfair advantage. It really would be unfair to Jeeves, but, as I reminded myself, it was all for the sake of showing him that he could enjoy himself in the young master’s bed from now on.

~~

“Jeeves,” Mr. Wooster said to me as I guided him onto the bed, “my heart ached tonight. Everything that you can do for me, I need it all, terribly.”

There was no force that could have pulled me away from my master then. I began removing his coat and waistcoat. “I will help you, sir.”

Closing his eyes, Mr. Wooster whispered, “Thank you, old thing.”

Suddenly, my master touched himself through his trousers, and moaned in a small, unobtrusive way.

I moved his hand away, and cupped him attentively.

“Oh, you don’t—I can take care of it,” Mr. Wooster managed to say, his eyes fluttering open. “Oh, Lord, I… I still want you to do that other thing for me… I just w-wanted to do this first, if that’s all right…”

“My service is not limited to one action, sir. If you would close your eyes again, sir.”

Mr. Wooster did so, and relaxed on the bed. As I undressed him further, I noticed a gratifying look of contentment gradually appear on his features. I knew what this signified, of course.

“She is beautiful, isn’t she, sir?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.”

“Would you have her please you, sir?”

“Y-yes, suppose I would.”

I removed Mr. Wooster’s underclothing, and cradled him reassuringly before I took him in my mouth.

My beautiful, charming master cried out with passion, and his hips bucked instinctively. Devotedly, I followed his movements, and quietly hummed for his benefit.

It was fortunate that Mr. Wooster was in need of so much attention this night. If I could please him this way first, then he might by association look more favourably upon my satisfying his curiosity after.

“Oh, thank you, my love, thank you,” Mr. Wooster mumbled.

 _Not at all, sir_ , I wanted to say, though I knew these sentiments were not intended for me.

“Yes, oh, yes, I’ll be yours forever.”

_It is I who will be yours, sir._

“Stay with me, I beg you, dear thing, p-please, always!”

_As long as you will allow me, sir._

The delusion that I was his beloved had a potent effect on me. In my eagerness to please him thoroughly, I may have done some unmentionable things with my labial region upon him, which could possibly have increased my master’s urgency.

It was over too quickly. Mr. Wooster trembled, and then, with a broken sigh, went still. An ill-advised compulsion to safeguard and serve all that my master was took over me, and I swallowed as much of him as I could.

“Lovely,” Mr. Wooster murmured. He was bliss, contentment, and a thousand other beautiful features in a single form.

This was normally the time that I would escape to the lavatory and see to the insistent demands my own insubordinate body was making. But I could not leave now, or else the specific psychological association I wished for my master to form would not be formed. I would have to endure it.

I reached for the necessary supplies, and then kissed my master on his stomach, a move meant to keep him in a relaxed state, and whispered a warning before I started preparing him.

“Ohh,” my master groaned, as his head tipped back on his pillow.

“Does that feel pleasant, sir?”

“It’s strange, but not bad, not at all,” Mr. Wooster said softly. “Is this improper, old thing? It feels… naughty.”

My concern for my self-control was growing rapidly.

“By no means, sir.”

Suddenly, Mr. Wooster quivered and shouted fervid profanities that one does not wish to repeat.

“My God, what was that?”

I touched that secret spot in my tempting young master again. Fate had been unnecessarily cruel to me when she made this part of my master so sensitive that he cried out as I prepared him further. Would he someday ask his wife to touch him there, as I had done?

“Oh! By Jove!”

The pleasure I felt at causing my master such joy and being trusted to do so was an intense feeling, as was my shame.

“Do you still wish for me to do as you asked earlier, sir?” The decent part of me was pleading that he answered in the negative, though it was a half-hearted plea.

“Yes, Good Lord, yes!”

“Are you certain, sir?”

“Yes, Jeeves! Please, make the loneliness go away. Am I repulsive? I’m terribly sorry. It would be too awful for you?”

“No, sir. I am pleased to be of service to you, sir.” My poor master. He needed me; that was enough, was it not?

Speedily, for my master’s convenience, I undressed and used the materials on myself, stifling a hiss of pleasure as I did so. He watched me—his curiosity, which seemed to have overcome his regret that I was not the one he wished for, was a blessing—but I knew he was happiest when he was able to think about the wife he would someday have. He would not want to watch me for much longer. And it would simply not do to blindfold him when he was in such a vulnerable position already.

I also knew that it would be absurd if I had my master on his hands and knees, so the position I chose was myself seated against the headboard, and my master on my lap, facing away. I manipulated him easily into place, and soon he was pressed against my chest, breathing quickly, one of his hands clutching one of mine.

“Think of me as your toy, sir,” I whispered, which allowed me to hear the catch in his breath. “Treat me as such. I’ve slicked you thoroughly, sir. It will be easy for you to take your plaything and use it to pleasure yourself.”

“My God,” he murmured.

My hand, playing the role of the adored and helpful wife, guided Mr. Wooster’s hand, and then he was pushing me into himself.

With my other hand, I grabbed the top of the headboard and used absolutely every reserve of my willpower to keep myself still.

“Oh! Oh, Lord!” Each sound that his light, courteous voice shouted in ecstasy was transcendent music to my ears. “My love… Oh, you’re so kind to me…”

He must have been imagining a beloved spouse buggering him with a toy. No matter what is said of my master, he is certainly creative.

Though he was thinking of another, it was beautiful to see him so taken with his desires. He moved himself with more confidence upon me. My blood thrummed with the desire to push him down onto the bed and have my way with him, to please him all the better. I was shaking from the effort it took to restrain myself.

It was becoming extremely difficult to keep myself under control, but Mr. Wooster seemed to be in no hurry…

Oh, my lovesickness had clouded my mind indeed! I had not realised that Mr. Wooster, having already been seen to once tonight, would take longer this time. This left me at a considerable disadvantage. How had I believed that I could endure this?

My employer moaned, and continued to use me at a leisurely pace.

I deeply regretted intruding upon my master’s fantasy, but letting myself take the liberty I longed to take was unacceptable.

“Mr. Wooster sir.” I groaned, gripping the headboard very tightly, as he fell upon me once more. “I’m very sorry for disturbing you sir but I am afraid that if you do not let me vacate the bed this instant it is possible that I will not be able to control myself sir.”

So enveloped in his fantasy was my master that he moaned almost deliriously, and continued satisfying himself in that ineffably tantalising manner.

The onus of guilt had become unbearably heavy. Mr. Wooster, apparently without knowing it, was bringing me to my peak. He was gorgeous and stunning in his unguarded enjoyment of this novel experience. If only he knew what I would do to have this privilege, the privilege of being his source of comfort if not his beloved, for the rest of my life.

But I was not the person with whom he would have the most happiness.

On this occasion, I was not overwhelmed by a plethora of poems commending the beauty of life. Instead, there was a single thought, written hundreds of years ago by Sir John Suckling, a poet, and incidentally, the inventor of cribbage.

_I prithee send me back my heart, since I cannot have thine; for if from yours you will not part, why then shouldst thou have mine?_

_Yet now I think on’t let it lie, to find it were in vain; For thou hat a thief in either eye, would steal it back again._

“You feel so good,” Mr. Wooster said kindly, and he kissed my shaking hand. “You’re so dashed good to me.”

It pains me to admit to the sudden loss of self-control I experienced at that moment.

~~

When I say that Jeeves pushed me down onto the bed and had his way with me, you can be jolly well sure that’s what happened! I don’t mean that he was brutish or anything, not at all. Rather, he was stirred, passionate, attentive, and so forth. It’s hard to imagine a respectable cove like Jeeves giving in to the baser impulses, but he has it in him and I'm not complaining!

With this handsome setup, I forgot the whole Jeeves-first wheeze and threw myself into the spirit of the thing, not caring what happy noises I made, though certainly I made my share. It made the heart pound to see Jeeves so driven from his senses that he overlooked the flaws of the young master and simply took the nearest warm, willing partner.

Jeeves was a goner in almost no time at all, and Bertram “Positively Dippy for Jeeves” Wooster wasn’t far behind.

When all was said and done, and after a bit of heavier-than-usual breathing, a queue of apologies was laid out forthwith to the young master by said focus of dippiness, but those were quickly oh-toshed away.

“Don’t worry about it, old thing. I say, I’m glad I was curious, Jeeves. That was a real corker! You know, I wouldn’t mind if we made of habit of satisfaction being had by all.”

“You need not tolerate further impertinence, sir,” Jeeves said, his tone fraught—if that’s the word I mean—with disbelief. He was cleaning and re-clothing me with such tenderness, as if to make up for a misdeed.

“I really wouldn’t mind.”

“You are characterised by a magnanimous and equitable quiddity, sir.”

“Thanks, Jeeves,” I said, as his statement had the air of being a compliment.

I hoped this had showed Jeeves that he didn’t need to hide himself away in that bally lavatory anymore. And if this success this was, than success had never been more joyfully obtained, I dare say.

It was with the well-known optimism of the family line that I said what-ho to the forty winks, and snuggled with the most comfortable pillow that ever held a job as a manservant.

The dream-Wooster might have enjoyed a foxtrot or two, and it wasn’t any kind of dream-wife who served as the impeccable dance partner.

~~

I had been successful. Having formed the intended association, my master now looked upon the most unsuitable of acts with satisfactory favourableness—and my manipulations also had the unexpected and iniquitous benefit of bringing Mr. Wooster to tolerate my own selfishness in his bed.

Much of the next day was spent in the company of the works of philosophers, in a vain attempt to justify my shameful misuse of my master.

Would a utilitarian approve my course? Perhaps they might; Mr. Wooster and I both gained something by our arrangement. How would a deontologist view my actions? Possibly with mercy; my feudal spirit was my moral law, and it was my duty to see that Mr. Wooster was comfortable and content.

How could I judge myself by these standards, when in truth I knew of the harm my subterfuge was causing to Mr. Wooster’s honour? When I knew that my purported duty to him gave me more delight than I had ever known?

I was keeping him from seeking an appropriate partner. He had been already grown to be, due largely to my own machinations, quite dependent on me before the development of this contemptible understanding. Now my trusting employer would become more dependent upon me, until perhaps one day my influence deceived him into thinking he was happy with his manservant alone. It was the life that suited my desires, but it was not the path that would best serve Mr. Wooster.

As I previously stated, the attempt was in vain.

~~

The right-thinking sort would say that young Bertram had no reason to be unhappy. A zippy reflection upon the previous evening’s revelries ought to show that.

After all, my man Jeeves… and I… Well, I could still feel what had been done, if you see what I mean. And to think, Jeeves must have experienced a similar feeling after, well, similar events!

And I can’t deny that I was thinking back with fondness on our activities, but what captivated me most, his passion at the end of our last encounter, must have been instinctual on Jeeves’s end, surely. He had been pushed to his limit, which he never would have been if I hadn’t been such a needy little blighter.

But he seemed to have finally got the message that he could do as he wished in the master’s bed, at least, and from then on, there were no misleading trips to the loo, though regardless of what we did, he still went about the whole business as if it were a regular duty.

For example, could the younger master expect an affectionate, genuine kiss to be thrown into the deal now and then? No, he couldn’t.

That isn’t to say Jeeves didn’t do a bang-up job, I must admit, with not a little blush of the cheeks, and I was stupendously happy that events could be mutually satisfactory, even if that usually meant he saw to himself in a rather business-like manner when he saw to me.

I mentioned affectionate kisses, didn’t I? Well, they had been on my mind since this latest hurdle had been biffed. Now what I wanted most was to kiss my valet. If there was something I couldn’t do with my valet, it seems, it became what Bertie Wooster wanted to do most! It must be something in the Wooster blood, or maybe the smog.

I didn’t want kisses for the act itself. No doubt the act itself is enjoyed far and wide, but I specifically wanted Jeevesian kisses, filled with the passion that I’d glimpsed for an instant.

A kiss, a dance, a poem or two—these impossible things filled the mind when Jeeves excited me unfairly with his clear gaze and took me in his steady, only-somewhat merciful hand.

Dashed complicated, being in love with the chap who does those things for you. I sometimes wanted more, sure, but how could I ask for more? He held me when I asked him to. He read to me when I asked him to. That ought to fit the bill, oughtn’t it?

If nothing else, I should be able to let Jeeves know how brilliant he is. He has a certain pride, so I thought he’d appreciate the compliment, and certainly it was deserved.

I’d been doing a good job of not blathering about this whole affair with even my closest friends, since masters and valets only discussed these things with each other. Being true to this discretion, I made sure to approach Jeeves in the privacy of our flat.

“Jeeves,” I said, “you are a phenomenal valet.”

“Do you mean ‘phenomenal’ in the scientific sense, sir, or in the popular one?”

There’d been some hope, I’ll admit, that I’d get to see him flush with pride. Instead, he glanced at me with some warmish emotion, maybe fondness, and that did just as well. Anyway, his words left me fogged.

“Hmm? Is there a difference?”

“Yes, sir. Scientifically, a phenomenon is any observable event, thus anything observable is phenomenal, though some philosophers utilise the term to refer specifically to what is perceived before it is judged. I suspect, sir, that you meant ‘phenomenal’ in the popular sense of ‘noteworthy,’ or even ‘extraordinary.’”

“That’s the ticket! Extraordinary, Jeeves. You are extraordinary.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

“Not only are you one brainy cove, but you’ve also done wonders for the Wooster heart.”

“Sir?” Jeeves’s voice had gone a trifle softer.

“I know what it means to you that you’ve done a good job, old thing, so I think you’ll be happy to hear that I’m over any and all ache of the heart.”

“I am gratified to hear it, sir.” His voice was still strangely soft. I think he was happy, though.

“I don’t need to be pining over any girl who doesn’t know a good chap when she sees one.”

“Precisely, sir.”

“I don’t even need a wife at all! No, you’re more than enough for me, Jeeves. I’m quite happy with this Understanding we have.”

Being under the impression that this little performance review would be well received, I was smiling and eager to see that long-awaited pride-flush.

Jeeves shifted slightly away from me.

“I am afraid that I have an made an error, sir.”

“Error?” I asked, perplexed. “No, I’m complimenting you! I said you’re phenomenal. You just explained the meaning of the word! And I really did mean it in the second way. Not that you aren’t observable, or anything like that. Though sometimes you have a way of floating into places that can catch a distracted cove unawares. Like a soft breeze, if a breeze could cough politely. Although, come to think of it, breezes aren’t all that quiet, and none too polite, at that. There really is nothing quite like you.”

“Sir.”

“Oh, sorry.” Sometimes I enjoyed talking about my wonder of a valet too much, even to the man himself! “You were saying? Something about an error?”

“You said that you do not need a wife, and that you are content with our present arrangement, sir.”

“Yes, and I meant it.”

I shuffled on the feet, nervous of where this might be going. Had I overstepped a line?

“Then, sir, I have made an error.”

As he spoke, Jeeves moved away, and started dusting with a duster that I hadn’t realised he was holding.

“You, sir,” he continued, “believe that you will be sufficiently happy with me. This is not true, though the mistake in judgement rests with me. I should have been helping you find the wife who would make you the happiest, sir. Instead, my guidance has misled you. I admit that I foresaw this as a possibility, being familiar with your psychology as I am.”

“The psychology of the individual, again?”

“Yes, sir. You are trusting, sir, and malleable, to an extent, if I may say so. It is therefore not surprising that, as our arrangement continued under my direction, you would think yourself happier, though in fact I am not where your happiness lies.”

Rummy stuff, I should think!

“I think I’ll be the authority on that, Jeeves,” I said.

“Sir?”

“On where my happiness lies, I mean. I have a rather good idea about what makes me happy, and I’m quite happy with you.”

“You must be confused, sir. I will assist you in finding a suitable lady.” Jeeves started dusting a vase with eagle-eyed attention. “It may be necessary to suspend our arrangement, sir.”

Oh, bother. That didn’t sound very good.

“Have I upset you, Jeeves?” I asked.

At last, Jeeves turned to face me. He looked sad, or at least, that is one of the things that such a twitch in his eyebrow could mean.

“Are you suggesting that you want our arrangement to be indefinite, sir?”

“Oh, Jeeves, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything, you know. I can’t make you keep at it if you don’t want to.”

“That was not my concern, sir.”

Jeeves came closer to me, even if he still wasn’t looking at me much. He placed his hand on my shoulder. Though he looked sad, or at least that was still my theory as to how he looked, there was something soothing about that touch. There always has been, really.

“Your confusion is understandable, sir,” he said, giving me the kid glove treatment in its entirety. “You have come to be dependent on me. But if you are speaking of a long-term arrangement, sir, then you must understand. You are not attracted to me, and though I may provide you with some tolerable comfort now, I will grow old before you, sir. Then you will have wished that you had found a suitable young lady, instead.”

My eyes were like wide. This must have been an unexpected response, but there was one part of what he’d said that had a neat ring to it.

“You would grow old with me, Jeeves?”

“I did not intend that to be the salient aspect of what I conveyed, sir. But, I do fully intend to stay on as long as I am useful to you.”

“All this talk about what’s good for me! What about _your_ happiness?”

“That is of no consequence, but I am happy being your valet, sir.”

“Thank God for that,” I said, the gratitude bursting forth without my say-so. “I’ll never understand why.”

“I anticipate that you are about to suggest that I become prime minister, sir, as you have sometimes done. I maintain that I am happiest where I am.”

“Well, I was about to suggest that. Are you really happy here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, then, if you’re happy, and I’m happy, then I don’t think you’ve made any mistake, have you?”

“Sir, you would not be happier with an attentive wife, someone with whom you could dance in public, perhaps? Someone who appealed to you?”

“I’m happiest right here. Dancing isn’t the most important thing in life. And as for someone who appeals to me, well, you’re no stinker, Jeeves. Dash it,” I said, eager as always to tell anyone who would listen about my amazing valet, “you’re a handsome man, I must say.”

Jeeves fell gravely silent. He wasn’t taking to compliments quite the way one would expect today.

“I underestimated the malleability of your psychology, sir.”

“But you _are_ appealing!”

“I would be honoured if you truly thought so, sir.”

“You wouldn't be revolted?”

“Not at all, sir. One would naturally be honoured to receive such an appraisal from another in possession of a form whose beauty is only matched by that of the soul dwelling within.”

With less than the preferable amount of refinement, my mouth fell open. I was stupefied.

A change abruptly came over Jeeves. As if startled, he quickly turned away and busied himself with the duster again.

“Jeeves?”

“Forget what I just said, sir. It was simply a passing thought. I am prone to poetic thoughts at times. They hardly amount to anything. Think no more of it, please.”

Was it true that Jeeves found me appealing? Was he afraid to say so?

“But I rather liked it!” I said, with plenty of feeling.

“I must have confused you again, sir. Please put the insignificant wandering of my mind out of your own. Perhaps you would be interested in a young lady with a talent for poetry?”

Well, it looked as if we weren’t getting any farther on this route.

I sat back in my chair, with a chin on one palm, while he moved about, cleaning the flat, which I thought was already clean.

A couple of times, he glanced at me, his lips drawn thin, doubtlessly because he was over-thinking everything. I don’t have a brain like Jeeves, but for once that was proving helpful. I didn’t overthink at all.

If he truly had any feelings for this Wooster, I ought to show him that such feelings were stamped with the firm seal of approval. I spent a bit too long looking at his lips and thought again that it would be corking to get a doozy of a smooch from him. You know—a peck, a smack, an osculation, a labial press. I mean to say, a kiss!

“Jeeves, there is something I would like very much at the moment.”

“What do you require, sir?”

“It’s not so much a matter of requiring, old thing. This isn’t something you have to do. The Understanding, and whatnot.”

“Sir, I quite follow. What is it that you would like, sir?”

“Well, if it’s square with you, would you sit down for me?”

I vacated my armchair, and directed Jeeves to take it.

“Sir?”

“There’s something I would like to do with you, but I’d like you to sit down first.”

Without another word, Jeeves did so. Even I know that valets aren’t supposed to sit around their masters, when I bother to remember, but with things as they were, matters like where and when valets are supposed to sit didn’t matter as much as they used to.

Once I’d touched his shoulder and received an encouraging nod, I climbed his lap, which didn’t surprise him as much as it would have in the old days. The arms lightly circled around Jeeves’s broad frame.

“Is this all right, Jeeves?”

“Yes sir,” he murmured. “Tell me what you need, sir. An embrace?”

He seemed so professional that I almost wondered if the past few minutes had really happened. I wanted to ask him if he truly thought me beautiful, but it occurred to me that doing so would scare him away as surely as would an eccentric paisley tie and matching spats.

I felt his arms start to rise, but not quite touch me. My dear man let me use him as a cushion, while he merely sat there, waiting for permission to give me the comfort that was entirely for my benefit. Oh, Jeeves!

“If you would be so kind,” I said.

His arms came up around me.

Jeeves’s face was close to mine now, and for a second, his eyes met mine.

Could I spot a glimpse of passion from him, now that I was on the alert?

My heart was pounding like a drum section, but he was cool and perfectly valet-like. Judging from his map, he might have been preparing to take down a telegram for me, and not a particularly interesting one.

I was reminded that he’s quite the dishy chap—intelligence and sophistication in every chiselled feature. Being no match for paragon levels of elegance, I resorted to the hiding-the-lovesick-face-against-the-Jeevesian-shoulder routine, since it had worked pretty well up to this point in my life.

“Was there something else you required, sir?” Jeeves asked me calmly, as if I had overlooked some detail for the telegram.

Oh, right!

“I can’t thank you enough, Jeeves. You’ve done so much for me. If you don’t mind me saying, things would be frightfully lonely without you. ”

“It is generous of you to overlook the instances when my behaviour has been distinctly self-serving, sir.”

That somehow gave me the courage to look up at him again. Now he looked like he’d made some error on the metaphorical telegram, poor man.

“I should never have lost control of myself, sir, nor should I have permitted myself to see to my own needs in your presence.”

“I told you, Jeeves, everything has been just what the young master needed. Really, I hadn’t expected I would like it all so much.” I had expected it actually, but discretion was the word of the day. “In fact, I’d like to try another thing with you, right now. It’s something that I haven’t done yet for you.”

Jeeves didn’t say anything. This was promptly filed under ‘signs that do not bode well.’

“Is that all right, Jeeves?”

“That remains to be seen, sir,” he said. This wasn’t the jubilant tone I would’ve liked to hear.

“Oh, then you know to what I refer?”

“I can only guess, sir. But it would be my privilege to accommodate you, whatever you desire.”

“You’re too good to me, old thing. I’m talking about, well, a smooch. You know… a peck, a smack…”

“Sir?”

“A kiss.”

“I understand, sir. Is that all…?”

This gave me pause. That was all I’d had queued up.

Taking a few moments to figure out what he might have anticipated, I came up with nil.

“What else would it be?”

“Nothing, sir.”

Maybe I’d got things all wrong, and that bit of poetry _had_ been meaningless. A tad reluctantly, I said, “Forget the kiss, then.”

Jeeves didn’t let me go.

“Sir, you still desire a kiss?”

The hopes were raised.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“In that case, sir, you may find it advantageous to lift your head from my shoulder.”

Ah, so I’d fallen back on that theme without even noticing. Jeeves’s shoulder was a place of refuge, renowned far and wide for its hospitality.

“Close your eyes, if you would, sir.”

I felt his palm on the side of the Wooster map, just before he kissed me again. It was a sweet little peck, and it was a touch sad even, what with Jeeves being so careful and tender with the thing.

His strong arms were still holding me, which was just perfect in my book.

“Mr. Wooster…”

I looked up at him when I heard that name, whispered so softly and devotedly that I might have been imagining it. His eyes were shut like mine had been a moment ago, and his eyebrows were furrowed, if I have the expression right. What was he doing? Was he thinking?

“Sir…”

He turned his head to the side, and by Jove, something glittered just under his eyes.

“Jeeves! Are you crying?”

“It will pass in a m-moment, sir. I am sorry, the desire to be unduly passionate is consuming me, sir. Give me a moment, I beg of you.”

This all had a mixed effect on young Bertram. On one hand, it pained me to see Jeeves in distress, but on the other, his tears were for want of me, or of a kiss at least! It was as if I had simultaneously got a letter from an unfriendly aunt coming to visit and a telegram professing victory on boat race night.

“Please, kiss me, Jeeves? And I know you’re trying to be proper, but please don’t hold back on anything. In fact, I’d like you to make it a world-ending number, if you would be so kind? For me?”

I heard what might have been some half-muffled cry, and then his hands cupped my head, guiding me down, and he kissed me.

On the matter of this kiss, it is my pleasure to report that the ‘world-ending’ metric was met and well exceeded. I dare say that the thing bore less resemblance to what is generally thought of as a kiss, and more to that moment in a vibrant fete when confetti is thrown, cheers are shouted, and if you have enough Americans on hand, the fate of the pile of fireworks they naturally brought with them is realised for the benefit of all.

It was lovely, though there was a salty reminder that Jeeves thought he was in the wrong. When we stopped to simply breathe together, I could clearly see the glistening of his eyes all the more clearly.

“I should not take advantage of you, sir,” he whispered.

“Enough of that, Jeeves. I love you.”

The words tumbled out of me, as words tend to do. But they’d also done something words rarely ever do: left Jeeves speechless. My man seemed to be at a loss.

“Jeeves?” I murmured, terrified that I’d made the worst mistake of my life.

There was some more twinkling in his eyes, and I felt his fingers comb gently through my hair.

“You are confused,” he managed to say.

“Then gosh darn it, let me be confused! We can be confused together!”

“I should not allow this to continue.”

“Are you going to put a stop to this?”

He shook his head, feebly—an adverb I can so rarely use to describe anything he does.

“I am not strong enough. Ask me to kiss you again, Please.”

“Are you asking for a kiss, Jeeves?”

“It is not my place, sir.”

“But you would like it? I need you to be completely honest with me, dear chap.”

“Sir, I would like it very much.”

“Then, please,” I said, smiling, “kiss me, won’t you?”

I had the honour of another kiss from Jeeves, and it was as world-ending—in a good way, you know—as the first.

Maybe he didn’t quite believe me yet, but he hadn’t thrown me off his lap, and it couldn’t be overlooked that he had really got into splendid kissing form, particularly where heart-crushing tears and kind murmurs are concerned, so all things considered, there wasn’t a great deal for me to complain about.

I didn’t know what his feelings were exactly, but he seemed to truly want some part of our Understanding, and that was enough to make me as happy as can be.

~~

Mr. Wooster thought he loved me.

I had not imagined that anything so tragic might occur. Mr. Wooster, who placed a great deal more trust in me than I was due, had fallen into my manipulations so neatly that he had convinced himself that he was satisfied.

I had already been struggling with the dubious moral justification of my actions, and this was only the latest piece of evidence that I should desist in my course.

Yet, I am sorry to admit, now that Mr. Wooster freely kissed me and told me time and again of his affection for me, my self-restraint proved more elusive than ever.

When Mr. Wooster had first proposed doing something with me that he had not done before, I had feared that he had been obliged by his sense of fairness to make some sacrifice for me. There were one or two particular ways in which I had seen to his needs that he had not yet done for me, nor did I ever expect him to.

At the time, he had in truth only wished to introduce a kiss into our understanding. However, he remembered my initial apprehension, as he later explained to me, having mentally categorised my reaction as a sign that did not bode well.

The issue was raised the next time I inquired as to whether he required intimate services. This was doubtlessly a selfish inquiry for me to make, knowing as I did that I was already misleading him so terribly (and my manipulations continued to confuse him, poor sir), but his mere physical presence was enough to provoke scandalously strong reactions in me, and I could not long restrain myself from the chance to see to his satisfaction.

He told me that he would like to know what it had been that we had not done yet. I believed that once I told him, he would realise that this was a venture he had no interest in. It would be one step towards clearing the delusions that had taken hold of him. Perhaps that would be enough to make me act as I should. So I told him.

“Oh, sir!” I cried, and I am afraid that my voice, like myself, had become entirely a thing of desperation.

I was lying on my master’s bed, my hands in his hair, and my heart, despite my best efforts, becoming fearfully attached to the idea of a loving Mr. Wooster.

“Hmm?” Mr. Wooster, who had been exceedingly engrossed in his activity, stopped what he was doing, and looked up at me. “Jeeves, I feel bad, you calling me ‘sir’ like this! I should have brought it up before. You can call me Bertie.”

It was difficult to take measured breaths. “Y-you called me Jeeves just now,” I managed.

“Oh. So I did! Would you prefer Reginald? Reggie?”

Hearing my familiar name from his melodic voice amplified the desire that was already overwhelming my body and mind.

“You m-may call me as you wish, s-sir.”

“Well, what do you prefer, Jeeves?” Chuckling, Mr. Wooster displayed his happiness for the world, which made restraint no easier for myself. “Habit’s a tough nut to crack, what?”

“F-forgive me, sir…” Blinded by my need for this beloved man with me, it was difficult to even look at him. “Sir, please…”

“Oh! Right! Sorry, old thing.”

I can barely testify to what happened after that, save that I was lost.

When my tension eased away at last and I began to feel a bittersweet sense of contentment, Mr. Wooster moved up to smile down at me, and if such was possible, my peacefulness intensified. He rubbed himself against me, his eyes closed, his lips parted in soft cries.

I held him close to me as he finished, with a grace that seemed to come naturally to him.

He was so very adorable and attractive, lying with me like that.

“That was lovely,” he said, after we had lain together for some time, him continuing to be adorable and attractive, and I mired in my shame. “Wonderful idea.”

“Sir,” I began, haltingly, knowing that I had to end this, but being unable to.

“You don’t have to call me sir, like I said. Bertie is just fine!”

I moved away from him.

Was it this, then, that would convince me?

“Reggie?” It was a question, and though it sounded like my name, what I understood was this: would I allow Mr. Wooster to stray so far from himself that he would let me be on the most familiar terms with him? Would I allow him to forget that he was Bertram Wooster, an honest gentleman who could and should have any future he desired, and that I was Reginald Jeeves, a valet who deceived and manipulated for a future he could and should not have?

“Sir, the understanding we share is perfectly unique.”

My own words rung loudly in my ears, deafening with the power with which they pushed me over the edge of my carefully laid ruse.

“What?”

“It is not standard practice, sir, for a valet to see to the intimate needs of his master.”

“Oh?”

My dear Mr. Wooster did not sound scandalised or angry, merely confused. His instincts had always been kind ones.

“It is most emphatically true, however,” I continued, spurred on by this undue kindness, “that I consider it my duty and privilege to do all that I can for your happiness. Nevertheless, I have been less than truthful about the activities of others. I hope you will forgive me, sir.”

He still looked confused, though his expression changed as if moving through different, more specific forms of confusion.

“Sir, now that you see how much I have manipulated you, you will no doubt see that the feelings you thought you possessed were merely consequences of my own shameful misguidance. You have no reason to feel obliged to return any of the attention I have improperly given you, sir, now that you know that I have acted unsuitably from the beginning.”

“But you’re naked in bed with me!”

“I am sorry, sir. I will vacate the bed at once.”

“No, wait!” He grasped my arm, his slight touch more gripping than a forceful tug. “What I mean is, why would you do this for me? Doing your duty is one thing, but this? I don’t understand. Why would you do this for me if it wasn’t the industry standard?”

“You were heartbroken over the loss of the lady you loved, sir, and I saw an opportunity to alleviate your loneliness as well as my own.”

Mr. Wooster’s eyes were wide, and then there was the loveliness of a short but animated burst of laughter.

“Jeeves!” he cried. “I lied about that!”

“Sir?”

“There was never any beazel! There was never anyone but you. I just about did myself in, pining over you like I was. Is that all right? I’m sure you don't have any deep pash for the young master, but if you are lonely, would it not be too much for you to tolerate my own?”

“You still…?”

“Of course I still love you, dear chap. I want you very much to stay by my side, and I fancy you staying in my bed as well, if you like.”

My poor master.

I touched the side of his handsome face, feeling my heart sink as he smiled at me.

“Does this mean you’ll stay?” he asked me.

“I would like nothing better,” I answered. “Let me do my duty for you, sir.”

“What do you mean?”

“Please lie back, sir.”

Perplexed but trusting, as Mr. Wooster had always been, he did so.

I admired him for a moment, and then I moved, admiring further as I went.

“Jeeves?”

“You do not need to condone me, sir. I have failed you terribly. I have dragged you into madness with me. I must have done, for you would not say these things otherwise. So let me do my duty for you, sir. Only let me please you, as I should not have allowed you to do for me, but as I should always do for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

My hand came closer to where his misdirected physical need was evidencing itself once more, and when I merely touched near his hip, a shudder went through his body.

“Oh!” he gasped.

“Will you let your shameful servant do this for you, sir?”

“U-um, well, yes, I mean, not that I’m not tempted awfully, but are you all right?”

“No, I am in love, sir,” I said, my voice breaking. I took my master in my mouth at once.

What seemed to start as a cry of realisation from Mr. Wooster soon escalated into one of passion. He clutched the linen at either side of him, and his vocabulary, though enunciated in a variety of colourful tones, was reduced to one word.

“Oh Reggie, Reggie, Reggie!”

If he was trying to keep me from being able to think of anything other than how I could please him, he succeeded.

~~

I love Jeeves, but he is as stubborn as a mule sometimes.

I showed all my affection for him, kissed him and called him by his given name, in the privacy of our flat anyway, and though this seemed to please him, he still didn’t believe any of it, even though he loved me, or perhaps because of that.

It was clear now to me that he returned my feelings. That had been the truth.

“Reggie,” I said one day, fed up with this nonsense. “I think we should go on holiday.”

Jeeves looked at me with a splash of concern. “Together, sir?”

“Absolutely.”

My man looked like he had a goodish bit of concern left in the bucket that might be sloshed around all day, so I took hold of Jeeves’s hand, an action which usually helped in the way of moving things along.

He stared at my hand for a long while.

“What are you thinking, Reggie? Please, tell me, I really won’t mind.”

“Sir,” he said at last, “there are times when I muse on matters of history, literature, philosophy, or, as you are well aware, psychology. There are times when I consider all these matters, particularly when it is to improve your situation. But there are times, sir, when there are no schemes to form or problems to solve, when I am by your side and your warmth fills the room, when I find that I cannot think at all, but only move closer to you as a flower moves toward the sun.”

“Well,” I said, flushed with all sorts of warm feelings, “you really are a poet, Jeeves!”

“It is a pale imitation of poetry, compared to you, whose beauty and warmth are the essence of all that is artistic in my world.”

I was giggling by this point, though I can hardly say why, since my man was being rather more sentimental than comical. “Oh, Jeeves!”

“To answer your question, I would gladly go on holiday with you, sir, though I am afraid prolonging your solitude with me may not be a wise decision.”

“Ah, you think I’m going to finally realise my folly and stop loving you, I suppose?”

Now he stared at me, shocked at my blunt manner.

“As a matter of fact, yes, sir.”

“Well, Jeeves, I am going to spend this holiday convincing you that it is you I have loved all this time.”

This had a profound effect on Jeeves, apparently, since I heard a sharp intake of breath.

“You are so determined, sir?”

“Entirely! We are going to stroll arm in arm all over the world, go out dancing together… Oh, right, um, I don’t think there’s any place where two blokes can do that.”

“On the contrary, sir, I know of such areas in France, or Belgium, perhaps,” he said, a tad uncertainly. “It is _me_ you wish to dance with?”

I was thrilled to have the chance at dancing with Jeeves, but my God, the stubbornness! I kissed him, how could I not?

I didn’t think that I kissed him all that hard, but it still left him breathless.

Softly, I asked him, “How long will it be before you start to believe that I love you?”

“I am sorry, sir. I was content with my life with you, content to adore you from afar. It is much to process.”

“Well, how about a wager? You know I’m a sporting man.” I thought this would loosen him up a bit, and indeed, the sides of his mouth quavered in amusement. “I’ll get you to believe that I return all your feelings with a spot of wooing before we ever set foot on the continent.”

His eyes were glittering. “You sound confident, sir.”

“Very confident! And if that doesn’t work, well, there’s the dancing. You have to believe a chap loves you when he’ll do the waltz with you in public spaces.”

“Of course, sir.” His cheeks were glowing pink, by Jove!

I was very much looking forward to our holiday, to the first moment when I made him feel as wholeheartedly welcomed and loved as he made me feel. At that moment, whenever it came, the Understanding Between Master and Valet would officially be over, and something new and dashed lovely between Bertie and Reggie would have begun.

“You are far too kind and patient with me,” Jeeves whispered, kissing me sweetly on the cheek. “Thank you, Bertie.”

“Of course, Reggie,” I whispered in reply, astounded that the moment had come so suddenly, but very much looking forward to our holiday all the same.

End~


End file.
